A Child of the Dalish
by Lady Cailan
Summary: An elf from a Dalish clan deep in the Brecilian Forest must now save her world from the coming Blight.  Chock full of action, Morrigan/Alistair bickering, and even some elf/templar love.  ;  Enjoy.
1. The Joining Complete

_Author's Prologue..(ermm…)_

_Ok, so maybe this isn't a prologue - but I was at a loss as to what to call this since, 'author's note' sounded lame..._

_Anyway, I want to thank those who have read my one-shots and enjoyed them...I write for you, and so I'm always grateful for the feedback. Thank you to those who've added me to their favorites! That was touching. :) _

_The story to follow this little note is a long time coming - well, a long time if you consider that I've wanted to write down my own Origins story since I started playing the game! I'm sure most of us who are fans of DA:O and love to dabble in fiction understand where I'm coming from - I have touched on several stories here on about just that subject matter. Bioware has created a rich and awesome universe with so much detail that it's impossible not to get lost in the story. Or write your own. :) _

_So, no, this isn't something that's never been done. Boo. But it is MY own version of events, and really apart from the first few chapters, which are pretty much standard game fare, the story does become my own. As does everyone else's, I imagine. _

_Of course, I will give credit where credit is due. Bioware owns DA:O (and have done a darn good job with it) and all characters therein, except for Nalia Mahariel, who is completely mine. :) I will give disclaimers as I go along as to when the dialogue completely belongs to BioWare, however as I'm writing this, more and more of it is my own, so hopefully the further you read the less gameish this will turn out. At least, I hope._

_Chapter quotes come from the game, but I got them from the Dragon Age wiki. Shout out to the wiki! I couldn't have gotten as much detail and order without that amazing site! _

_Um - this is my first DA:O long fic - be gentle...it may not be a story of complete uniqueness, but I hope it is enjoyable, nevertheless. As always, please let me know how I'm doing. Shoot me an email, or drop me a line here. And without further ado….(drum roll)…._

_~LCailan_

**ooOOoo**

**~The Joining Complete~**

**ooOOooOOoo**

_" Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you."_

**ooOOooOOoo**

Nalia Mahariel's tiny hands trembled as Duncan inclined his head towards her. The Grey Warden's dark eyes searched her face, but Nalia was unable to even gaze on him now. She could only stare at the golden chalice in horror and barely restrained fear.

The cup held within it the dark ruby liquid, which Duncan had called the ceremonial darkspawn blood. On the ground nearest to her lay the two bodies of her ill fated companions. Behind her stood Alistair, who was a new recruit to the Grey Wardens. And then, of course, there was Duncan, still holding towards her the source of the evil that had killed her companions.

What had been only minutes before something unknown had now turned into the vessel which had led both Daveth and Ser Jory to their respective deaths.

Even as Duncan moved forward, with the cup outstretched towards her, Nalia still could not drink.

Daveth! He had been so brave, so willing to fight for Ferelden and for Thedas. He had been ready do die to serve Duncan and so he had. And Ser Jory! A wife and a child on the way! What would Duncan tell her? What would she tell her child when it was born? Had it been so impossible to understand how a man with a wife and a child could have had second thoughts after what had happened to Daveth?

Daveth had been first. Nalia had watched with curiosity then turned horror as after nary one sip he had clutched at his throat, his brown eyes rolling back into his head and then he had fallen onto the ground, still as death came to him. In the silence that followed, Duncan had whispered his sorrow.

Then Ser Jory had panicked, changed his mind, and even as he had turned to flee, Nalia had known it was too late. He passed by way of Duncan's blade, and she wondered if she would have had the strength to kill someone in that way, although she could clearly see the remorse on the oldest Gray Warden's face. Ser Jory had fallen next to Daveth. Death, perhaps had been a secret blessing.

And now, it was her turn. Trepidation rocked her small body as her hands wrapped around the chalice. It was warm, as if…alive. As she looked into the dark contents, the surface of the liquid shivering from the tremble of her hands, she suddenly flashed back to the camp.

Had it only been a few days? How she missed her clan! How she missed the sunshine, the trees, the flowers…the halla wandering inside their pens, the sound of Paivel's storytelling and the laughter of the children. Of Ashalle, her surrogate mother (and the only mother she had known, and therefore, not so surrogate after all). And of the Keeper. The Keeper's voice suddenly broke through her fear.

_"We are the Dalish: keepers of the lost lore, walkers of the lonely path. We are the last of the Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit."_

Nalia felt tears burn behind her eyes, though she did not allow them to come.

_Is this what you meant, dear Marathari? That we do not submit? Is this not submission? I am about to die by the hands of the shemlen, and yet, my whole life I have tried to live by way of what we Dalish believe._

As she gazed into the depths, still unmoving, as Duncan waited in anticipation of what was to come, the tears finally filled her eyes.

_Oh Tamlen! What has become of you? Is this why I am here? Was there no other choice, no other path for either of us? _

She heard Tamlen's shrill scream, the last sound she would ever hear of him, echoing inside the ancient ruins. Nothing she had tried to do had helped him then. Not the fine hunting skills she had developed within her clan, her survival skills, nothing. Tamlen was gone. She had awoken back in the village, horribly sick and confused, only to find that her best friend was gone. And when she had gone to find him, that was when Duncan had told her about the Blight.

_I am ill. Not even the Keeper can save me? But is this necessary? Would it not be better if I die?_

She had hoped to die with her clan, within the camp even. So that she could be buried according to ritual, a pass onto the next life in peace. But this? The blood shivered once more within its vessel.

"You must. There is no going back now," said Duncan.

Nalia nodded, a small choking sound escaping her. There _was_ no going back. Tamlen was gone, probably dead. She was never going to see her clan again. She had seen more death and horror in the last days of her life than she had ever before. What was left for her? Perhaps Jory and Daveth had been saved from the worst. Finally, after a time that she herself could not enumerate, Nalia brought the chalice to her lips and swallowed the blood poison within.

At first, there was nothing, and then…

She saw hordes of horrific creatures, bearing all sorts of weapons, cries and unrecognizable sounds emanating from them as they charged forward. There was madness in their eyes, and blood in their voices, and behind them, standing tall, it's wide, awe-inspiring and terrible wings unfurling was a creature that she had never seen before. It was so horrific, that it froze everything inside of her. The creature issued forth a sound, almost a scream, and breathed a terrible hot fire. Its voice seemed to stir the blood lust within the thousands of minions as they came forward, screaming, charging…

There was pain, horrible, head splitting pain. And yet, she could not cry. She could not move. It burned through her, a fire that could not be quenched or put out. She thought perhaps she was screaming now, because she could hear her own voice begging for mercy, begging it to stop, but it would not…and it was so terrible she tried to flee, her body twisting and turning to get away from whatever it was that had snared her so.

The first thing she was aware of was that she _was_ crying out for help.

"No…no, please…please make it stop….p-please, it hurts, it..please…"

There was a firm hand on her shoulder, and when Nalia opened her eyes, she made out the blurry form of Duncan standing above her, his large hand touching her. She blinked to clear her vision, but it only served to make her head spin.

She was on the ground, although Nalia had no recollection of how she had ended up there. The courtyard stones where the ritual had taken place were cold against her back, for the armor she wore was thin. Now, she was aware of the sounds in the distance, the crackling of the fire, the chirping of the night creatures, footsteps, yells….and the moon above Duncan's head, shining weakly behind thin clouds in a navy sky.

She was alive! Nalia felt weak and confused, but the horrible pain was gone as if it had never existed, leaving only in it's wake a heavy exhaustion and the brief twinges of discomfort when she tried to flex her fingers and toes. In the end, she remained in the same place, on her back. It felt best when she wasn't moving. It was then that she was aware of the other figure stooped over her prone body. Alistair. He was speaking.

"Is she.."

"She survived," said Duncan, reaching down to assist her, though Nalia couldn't move. Her blue eyes moved from Duncan to Alistair as if in shock.

"Perhaps she is in shock?"

"She has been through much, Alistair."

"I know, I just.."

There was concern on the younger warden's face. Duncan knelt down, and tenderly reached for Nalia's tiny hand, helping her up to a sitting position. The elf had trouble keeping her balance and found herself propped up against Alistair's bended knee.

"Congratulations, you survived the Joining. You are now a Grey Warden," said Duncan, his tone sad and joyless. Nalia could only stare at him, eyes wide in the darkness. She was grateful somehow, to this shemlen for being so kind. Not many were, she knew, especially to the Dalish. He paused before continuing.

"How do you feel?" he inquired gently, keeping her in a sitting position by holding onto her with gentle firmness.

"_Emma souveri_," she whispered, forgetting the language barrier in her great exhaustion. Her eyes were fluttering closed, and Alistair's flickered from the tiny female to Duncan's face, confusion on his features.

"She is tired," said Duncan, translating quickly. Nalia's eyes opened a little as she let her complete weight rest against Alistair now.

"You speak my language?"

"I know enough," he said with a nod and a hint of a smile on his bearded features. Somehow, it was a comfort, she thought, her eyes fluttering closed once more. She felt herself being lifted to her feet, and Nalia thought she would fall over if they let her go, but they did not.

"Take her to the tents, she needs to rest," Duncan was saying. "I am leaving her in your capable hands, Alistair. There is much to be done, but for now, rest."

"Yes, Ser Duncan," replied the younger warden, and Nalia felt herself being led down the steps away from the courtyard of the ruins of Ostagar. She opened her eyes, and found that they were moving slowly along a pathway that was flanked on each side by small, orange fires, and dotted by many tents. It was dark now, and the large camp was surrounded by tall trees on all sides. Here, she could hear the talking more clearly, the crackling of the fire, and she could feel the warmth. It seeped into her stiff appendages as she walked.

It reminded her of the clan. Of home.

Alistair led her along, not saying much at all, and Nalia was glad, for she wasn't sure she could speak. Here and there, soldiers milled about, some in their uniforms, and some in their plain clothes. Beyond the tents, stood the entrance to the mages area, which had been forbidden to her upon arrival. She could see flashes of light there, illuminating the darkness every moment or so.

At long last, Alistair stopped and helped her into a sitting position. Nalia thought nothing had ever felt as good as being off of her feet. The fire next to the tent was bright, warm. She stared into it's flames, as if transfixed and hardly noticed Alistair moving about until he set a small tin in front of her which held what might have been some kind of vegetable on it. She was not hungry. He nudged the tin towards her, hesitating for a moment, as if she was some kind of animal whose response he wasn't sure of. Nalia felt a flitter of annoyance at his behavior.

"E-emma'din.."

She stopped herself, swallowing for a moment before speaking.

"I am not hungry," she repeated. "Thank you."

Behind her, Alistair hesitated at the tent flap, but she did not look at him, instead staring into the flames in silence. She could feel him hovering for a moment, and then going into the tent. She turned after a few moments. He had opened the flap, and was sitting inside, just against what looked like a wooden supply crate. When he saw her looking, he spoke.

"I-you ought to eat something. Tomorrow will be difficult, what with the battle. I mean."

His words were so low, Nalia barely heard him over the chirping night song. She turned completely and crawled into the tent, finding a blanket that was laid out for her by the other corner of the small space. She was grateful for it, and lay down immediately, unable to reply, even though the warden's voice was gentle.

She closed her eyes, wondering if the horrific beast in her earlier dream would reappear, but somehow, her thoughts were empty, colorless. She saw nothing. Maybe if she slept, she would see Tamlen. She could hope, at least. Nalia found herself drifting off, although it could not be called sleep.


	2. Ostagar

_I thought I'd post the second chappie to this real quick – here it is! Nalia and Alistair in a tent – although doing nothing naughty. ;) Gamers will recognize the conversation between Duncan/Marathari/Nalia as it is taken directly from the game. The conversation between Alistair and Nalia later in the chapter has it's skeleton from the conversation choices given in the game, but the meat of it is mine. __ Enjoy!_

_LCailan_

**ooo**

**~Ostagar~**

**o**

**oo**

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"_There are only a few Grey Wardens within Ferelden at the moment, but all of us are here. This Blight must be stopped here and now. If it spreads to the north, Ferelden will fall._"

**o**

**oo**

**o**

Alistair had always found that time became irrelevant when battle was imminent. It was as if no one slept, not even in the dead of night. And so, one lost track of time. In the distance he could see Duncan standing at the huge fire near Cailan's tent. Beyond that, nothing but darkness. But he could feel them. Hordes of them, all of them horrid and frightening – he had never gotten used to how horrible the darkspawn were- although he was now used to the strange feeling that came over him when they were near.

His eyes traveled across the path and then towards the small elf who was lying nearby. He didn't dare move, in case she _was_ sleeping, but Alistair knew better. Sleep had been impossible his first night after joining in spite of the pull of exhaustion. He recalled his own feelings of fear and inadequacy and even the regret at leaving the chantry, which had been the last place he wanted to be. That had been most surprising to him. And of course, how he had felt when _feeling_ their presence.

The darkspawn.

Alistair shifted from one leg to the other, making himself more comfortable against the wooden storage crate. Outside, the fire crackled and popped, and then, for awhile, there was nothing but the howling of the wind. After that, a voice broke through the quiet, died once more. A war hound barked in the distance. Then, she moved. Alistair's eyes shifted towards Nalia's form, as she turned onto her back, still cocooned in her burlap blanket. Partly because he had been raised in the chantry from the time he was a little boy and partly because, well, he was painfully shy around women, he avoided her gaze. Her eyes had opened, for he had seen a split second glimmer from the fire burning outside. Unfortunately, he found himself tongue tied. He knew few women, and on top of that, he knew even fewer women who weren't _human. _Alistair's reality was that she would be the first elf he had known since…ever.

Could that be true? In a world where elves, dwarves and human coexisted, could he have been that sheltered? Nalia could tell the man she now shared a tent with was uncomfortable with her.

_Shame. Is it because I'm an elf? Or is it something else? No matter. I won't waste my time on some socially awkward shem anyway._

She stared up at the ceiling of their enclosure. It kept out the night wind well enough, though places were worn thinner than others, and she could almost see the stars glittering through the canvas. It had finally sunk in. Nalia had realized she had passed the awful joining ceremony and was still alive. That meant she would never again see the ones she loved. Now that she was past the first test, Nalia had too much time to think. Too much time to recall how she had gotten here in the first place.

Tamlen…oh Tamlen! Why couldn't she have saved him? Guilt filled her once more over the demise of the only friend and the one who would have been her love. Why had they gone into those ruins? Why had he touched that mirror? It had happened so fast. The horrible battle with the wolves, and then the allure of a looking glass which had stood in the center chamber, clearly an object that hadn't belonged there. And Tamlen, always curious..

Tears filled her eyes and spilled, hot ad wet along her cheeks. Whatever magic the mirror had possessed caused her illness, a coma, the Keeper had said. And there had been no way to cure it, except…by the shemlen. Duncan. She still heard his deep voice, warning her of the dangers, and telling her that it was too late, that she must join him…

"_The cure is only found by joining the Grey Wardens, it creates immunity, but we don't take just anyone. This is not charity. We enlist only the worthy, and you have certainly proven yourself. Should you join, it's unlikely you'll ever be able to return here."_

_Nalia stared, afraid of leaving her clan, her home…especially now, with Tamlen missing._

"_I would rather take my chances with this illness," she replied thoughtfully. "No…no, I refuse to go."_

_It was then that Marathari spoke, her voice strong, yet gentle._

"_A great army of darkspawn gathers in the south. A new Blight threatens the land. We cannot outrun this storm. Long ago, the Dalish agreed to aid the Grey Wardens against a Blight, should that day arrive. We must honor that agreement. It is your duty, and your salvation," she said, putting a hand on Nalia's arm. But the younger elf flung it off in shock at being rejected so unceremoniously._

"_This is my home!" she sputtered, sky blue eyes wide. "It's all I've ever known! I can't..I cannot…"_

_Duncan frowned with gravity._

"_A home that darkspawn may tear apart. This way, you can find a cure and protect your clan. Have courage."_

_Nalia's eyes filled with tears of uncertainty as she gazed imploringly at her Keeper. The elder elf sighed, and Nalia saw in her eyes sadness and regret, her mouth turned down into a frown. _

"_I cannot express my sadness at sending one of our daughters off into such danger, away from the clan that loves her," she said in a low voice. "But if this is what the Creators intend for you, da'len, meet your destiny with your head held high. No matter where you go, you are Dalish. Never forget that."_

_Nalia shook her head vehemently, her heart pounding. _

"_I refuse to listen to this!" she hissed, stepping away, her eyes narrowed with hatred, with anger, and with all too known fear. "I won't go! I won't!" she cried out. She stared at the man who had saved her life. Now, she hated him. Hated him because he was trying to take her away from her family. How could he? How could anyone? _

_Duncan spoke in that same tone of gentleness, his voice low._

"_Very well. You leave me no choice. I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription." _

_Nalia stared at him in disbelief and shock._

"_You're forcing me? You can't FORCE me," he said her voice shaking, and yet at the same time, Marathari was speaking in sadness._

"_And I witness and acknowledge your invocation, Duncan of the Grey Wardens," she whispered, giving her consent…_

The recollection filled her once more with that hot, burning hatred for Duncan of the Grey Wardens. An order of which she now belonged.

Without much ceremony, she spoke.

"Tell me about Duncan."

Alistair jumped, having nearly forgotten the elf who lay on the other side of the tent. Her voice broke through his reverie, somehow softer and higher pitched than he remembered, which was silly.

"Huhh..what?" he said, rather stupidly, blinking in the darkness. He saw that she had sat up, and her hands were folded over her thin frame giving her an unforgiving look. He could see her annoyed expression, even in the dim lighting.

_Great. I don't even know her and already she hates me._

"Duncan," she repeated, slowly, as if he had a hearing problem. He was a shem, after all. Perhaps he _did._ "Tell me about him."

It was a question that the young warden had never considered, for in his mind, Duncan had been a savior, a particular kind of spirit from the Maker himself who had swept in and rescued Alistair from a fate worse than death. Taking the vows of a Templar. He would never look at Duncan as anything less.

"What do you…want to know?" he asked thickly. The elf was annoyed now.

"You were recruited, were you not?" she snapped. "You went through this horrid ritual of joining just as I did. Did you not ever once question who this man Duncan was? How he had come to find you? Anything?" she asked incredulously.

Alistair shirked away as if he had been smacked. Nalia almost felt badly.

"Are all elves this rude?" he asked defensively.

"Are all shemlen such blind followers?" she replied, the words hot on her lips. He bristled.

"I don't know what you're saying, elf," he said gruffly. "But I'm…not…this…shemlen, whatever you're saying," he stated. The fact that she raised her eyebrow in amusement only fueled his annoyance with her. She spoke, her tone less harsh.

"Oh? You're not human?" she questioned lightly. Alistair flushed like a ripe tomato. "Shem is our word for human. You should think before you speak," she said.

"Oh..ohh…"

He looked down, silent. The discomfort in the tent was high. Alistair finally spoke again, his cheeks still hot.

"Duncan is the leader of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden…which he would say doesn't mean much, as there aren't many of us here. Yet. Beyond that, he's a good man. A good judge of character. I owe him a lot."

He was staring down at the ground, kicking his boot into the loose dirt there. Nalia softened at his tone, not being used to speaking with such a quiet shemlen. She wasn't sure what to say when Alistair looked up.

"I suppose you are angry with him, so asking you what you think of him is pointless?" he questioned. Nalia sighed, looking away.

"I owe him much," she conceded. "If it is true, if I am sick and this was the only way, well then, he saved me," she said softly. Then she looked up at him. "You speak so highly of him. Were you never angry at your fate?" she questioned in a voice that was decidedly small.

Alistair looked down once more, away from her face.

"I owe him much as well," said he. "My fate was worse before Duncan recruited me six months ago," came the admission. Then there was a crackle and hiss from the fire outside.

Nalia contemplated his soft words. A worse fate than being pulled from a family? From a life one loved? She had never considered that. Slowly, she crawled across her blanket, closer to the fire, and to the quiet shem.

"Being a Grey Warden is better than the life you had before?" she asked in complete confusion. The warden did not look at her.

"Duncan was the first person to ever care about what I wanted. He saw how unhappy I was and he-"

There was a shy hesitation.

"I was raised by the chantry. As soon as I was old enough they began to train me as a templar."

Nalia tucked her legs under her thin frame, listening to him. It was comforting somehow, this voice in the tumult of the last few hours. She knew of the templars. Her clan had always found them ruthless, horrible, pointless murderers. Somehow though, this man before her seemed none of those things.

"You were a mage hunter?" she whispered. She saw the warden sigh and look saddened.

"The Chantry tries to control mages, yes. They feel that some who wield magical powers are dangerous, so they keep templars that train to hunt and kill apostate mages. That's what I was doing when Duncan recruited me."

Nalia had always made it a point not to speak with humans, but under the circumstances and her own curiosity, she found herself interested.

"So you didn't want to join the Chantry, I take it? You didn't want to be a templar?"

"It just…it wasn't for me," he explained softly, still looking at the ground. Nalia had the sudden desire to look into his eyes but he didn't move. "I believe in the Maker well enough, but I never wanted to devote my life to the Chantry. And killing…mages for no-"

He fell silent, shuddering for a moment.

"I spent years in that chantry, hopelessly resigned to my fate. I never had a choice. It had been made for me. Then Duncan came along. He cared about me. He risked a lot of trouble with the grand cleric to help me. Duncan saw I wasn't happy, and figured my training against mages could double for fighting darkspawn. Now, here I am, a proud Grey Warden. The Grand cleric wouldn't have let me go if Duncan never forced the issue. I'll always be grateful to him."

Nalia backed away, sitting on her haunches. Such a different tale from her own.

"Forced the issue?" she echoed softly, thinking of her own situation. "Did..did he invoke the right of conscription?" he asked him.

That was what made him look up, and Nalia could see his surprise.

"How did you know? Did he invoke…?" he began and then his face saddened. "Ah yes, for very different reasons, then. I wanted to go and they wouldn't let me, you did not want to go at all."

After this, there was a long bout of silence. Nalia wondered why Alistair seemed so…disappointed in her.

"At any rate," he continued then, "He does the best with what he's got, which isn't saying much since he's got me," he finished, and then lay down on his back, hands behind his head.

Nalia watched him for a moment and then lay down herself. Somehow, the junior warden's voice was preferable to the silence, and so Nalia spoke in a subdued way.

"Tell me now about the darkspawn."

Alistair turned his head to look at her in surprise, and Nalia met his gaze. She could have sworn that he blushed, but the moment was gone just as quickly as it had come.

But he did speak. He spoke about the chantry's beliefs and on the truth. He spoke about the arch demon, the one that was in her dreams. He spoke of how he could feel the spawn when they were close and how she would soon understand that. And he spoke of fighting. The whole time, she listened without much interruption finding his voice a comfortable distraction to her current situation.

Not like that situation was going to change, but still.

"The King seems pretty confident tomorrow's battle will go well," Nalia commented then, lying on her stomach but facing Alistair. He nodded.

"Confident enough," he said, though his tone held worry.

"I think him a fool," she uttered haughtily. "One should never underestimate their enemy. Anyone who is trained in fighting ought to know that," she sniffed. Alistair raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? So now you're the resident go to for battle advice?" he replied, his tone slightly caustic.

"You don't have to be so glib about it, shemlen," she snapped back, giving him a disparaging look. "It does you no service."

Alistair bristled again at being called a 'shemlen'.

"I don't understand why that word has to sound so…nasty," he grunted. Nalia sat up, rolling her eyes.

"When you were in the chantry did you ever get a proper history lesson?" she questioned. "You do know about my race and what you _shemlen_ did to-"

She stopped.

"This is pointless," she exclaimed, and then lay back down in her burlap sack. Alistair, still irritated at her passive attack on what he considered his brain, flung himself down as well.

"Clearly," he replied.

Nalia wondered if he would say anything more, but soon the crackling of the fire was mixed with the deep breathing of her tent companion, for he had fallen asleep. She propped herself up on one thin arm, and watched him by the firelight.

He was strange, this shem. And by some weird twist of fate, he was now her companion in what lay ahead, be it good or bad. He lay sleeping, his cheek resting on the back of his hand, long fingers splayed in the hard-packed dirt. Even the hahren had smaller hands than this shemlen. She also found herself admiring the regal ness of his nose, the roundness his ears, which were quite different from those in her race. His face was smooth, unlined in sleep, and free from the blood writing which decorated the faces of her people, though a rogue lock of hair had fallen across his forehead. It was the first time Nalia could ever recall being this close to a human, and like with all things new, she was fascinated.

She lay down then, on her hand as well, closing her eyes after a long moment of thought to what was next. But she didn't want to think, and in spite of her belief that sleep was impossible, soon it gave her blessed relief.


	3. The Fall of Ishal

_Thanks to all those who are reading – and added me to their lists. :blush: Much appreciated…and I hope not to completely disappoint. This next chappie is a little more standard – less dialogue, more description. It will take us through the end of the battle at Ostagar. I included within it the dialogue about Alistair in a dress for it's one of my favorite in game exchanges. __ There is a small Cailan/Duncan snippet. That's all me, making the brotherly connection between Cailan and Alistair. Enjoy!_

_LCailan_

**ooo**

**~The Fall of Ishal~**

"_Loghain better be ready to charge as soon as we light the signal. The king is depending on us!_"

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Nalia stared at Alistair in shock. She could not believe – at all – that he could act like such a child. Was it all shemlen? Or just this one? He was one part warrior and one part petulant child.

When she had awoken the following morning, Alistair had been gone, and she hadn't seen him again until now, while reporting to Duncan for duty. All day long, the clouds had rolled in, across a deep gray sky, as if heralding the doom that was inevitable to them all. The battle was nigh. Now, as it grew later, the wind had also picked up, rustling the trees, bringing with it a sense of unease. Behind her, the fire roared high, ebbed by the flow of the wind, and in front of her stood Duncan, formidable looking in his silver armor, a beautiful shield adorning his back, and a sword sheathed in leather. The fact that the battle was to commence seemed surreal, but not as such when she had spied Alistair's face falling. He stood before Duncan, to Nalia's right side, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief and cheeks flushed with the effort of restraining his anger.

"You-you mean…we can't fight?" he asked, his tone akin to that of a little boy who didn't get his way. Duncan frowned.

"You heard the plan. You and Nalia will go to the Tower of Ishal and ensure the beacon is lit," he said, pointing to a tall structure rising up into the tumultuous sky. It seemed so far away. She turned, adjusting the strap of her clan shield (Tamlen's shield – oh Tamlen!), just as Alistair began to whine once more.

"You're saying we won't be in the battle? But I've – I'm a Grey Warden, isn't this what we're supposed to do?" he questioned.

Duncan sighed patiently.

"This is by the king's personal request, Alistair," he explained once more. "If the beacon is not lit, Teryn Loghain's men won't know when to charge the hordes."

He was interrupted by a larger group of soldiers who rushed past the royal tents, and upwards towards the stone pathway leading towards the ruins beyond. Their armor clanked and clashed loudly as they moved, issuing orders to each other. Following them was a pack of war dogs, the Mabari, their loud barking raising the night. Nalia looked beyond, at the now nearly navy sky, towards the black silhouette of Ishal. It seemed a menial task, this one the king had issued them, and although she had not uttered a word, she found herself understanding the irritation of her comrade.

Alistair, for his part, still managed to look righteously put-off. She had noticed how impossible it was for this human to hide his feelings – all his emotions seemed written across his face just as surely as the tattoo on hers.

Nalia felt the strength of her sword against her thigh. The dar'missan had been given her by Ashalle only hours before she had left with Duncan. Along with it, Tamlen's clan shield, and a small rune which had been her mother's. She now carried the amulet around her neck, until she could fasten it to her weapon. In some way, holding the sword close reminded her of her mother. Having the shield against her chest was like a memory of Tamlen in her heart. With both, she felt strength…she felt _purpose._ What was she if now she could not help stop what everyone was whispering could be the next blight? Why had she been taken from her home, her clan, if she could not do battle? It was her purpose now. Alistair was right.

He was speaking, his tone dry and sarcastic. Nalia thought this would be his downfall. He was much too derisive in his speech. Much too emotional, although Nalia respected passion, in everything there was downfall in excess.

"So he needs two Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch. Just in case, right?" he mocked.

There could be heard now the whooshing sound of bow and arrow sailing through the trees and far off yells from the other warriors. The ones who would be on the front lines, while she and this strange shemlen would be running errands for the King. Nalia watched the darkening sky and she found herself speaking, to Duncan's surprise, and much to her own as well.

"I agree with Alistair. We should be in the battle," she acknowledged. Even though she found Alistair annoying at times, she understood him. "I'm a hunter, the best in my clan!" she announced, standing up straight. "You pulled me from the family I love, the only life I've known to do what? Light a candle?" she uttered, before she could stop herself.

She didn't notice the look of surprise that Alistair gave her, a look that quickly changed into one of admiration.

"I feel better when I'm fighting. I have a purpose then. I know what I have to do, and I'm good at it. This is…this is not right," she finished, her posture slumping a little.

Duncan held up his hand.

"Enough!" he exclaimed. "Both of you, you heard me! This is not your choice. If King Cailan wishes Grey Wardens to ensure the beacon is lit, then Grey Wardens will be there. We must do whatever it takes to destroy the darkspawn…exciting or not."

Alistair frowned, his jaw jutting stubbornly.

"I get it," he tossed back sharply. "We must all do what Cailan wants! Just so you know, if Cailan ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line. Darkspawn or no."

Nalia hid a smirk as she saw the look of warning in Duncan's dark eyes and heard the disdain in Alistair's tone. She had little time to wonder at the way he spoke of the king.

Though she didn't laugh, the comment, in all its impropriety, was quite funny.

"That's enough out of you," Duncan warned Alistair, and turned, pointing his sword towards the distant tower. "The tower is on the other side of the gorge, where the soldiers went. You'll need to cross here and head through the gate up to the entrance. From the top, you'll overlook the entire valley. We will signal you when the time is right. Alistair will know what to look for," he explained, and Nalia saw the pointed, yet mysterious look that the two men shared.

She supposed she would never know what they knew.

"I understand," came her reply as she tightened her grip on the small sword. She could see Alistair's head down, as he drew lines in the dirt with his toe, refusing to acknowledge the order.

The oldest warden stepped forward then, and the fire glinted against the shiny armor he wore. With a sigh, he ignored Alistair, and turned to Nalia.

"Then…I must join the others. Form here, you two are on your own. Remember, you are Grey Wardens, and I expect you to act as such and be worthy of that title," he reminded with a sternness that made Alistair's head rise, and his eyes soften.

Another large group of soldiers clambered by, followed by the mages, who were now leaving the camp in droves. The darkness had fallen completely. He put an arm on Nalia's shoulder.

"I know you think it wrong that you are here," he told her. "But I did not make a mistake. You are Dalish. Your people are great warriors. You will be fine."

Alistair spoke then.

"Duncan…may the Maker watch over you," he said, his voice choked for a moment. Duncan nodded, his eyes flickering with kindness, his earlier annoyance seemingly gone.

"May He watch over us all," he replied. The he shifted in his armor, and hurried away, following the groups of soldiers towards the clearing near the ruins.

They were alone now, and Nalia felt her heart hammering in anticipation. The energy around her was catching, it seemed to seep into her core, and even though she knew their duty would not put them in harm's way, she wondered, really wondered, what battle would be like. She looked towards the distance.

"We could have done this," she began softly. "We fought those…those things in the Kocari Wilds, didn't we? We've faced this!"

"He has kept me out of the battle three times now," replied Alistair. "I can't for the life of the Maker understand that."

"Perhaps he fears your dancing skills," she replied quickly. They exchanged a look and she snickered. "Although I think it would be a great distraction. You know, in the dress. For the darkspawn."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I can see it now. Me shimmying down the darkspawn line? Sure. We could kill them while they roll around laughing!"

"I'd love to see that."

"Hmm…" he murmured thoughtfully, smiling for the first time. It lit up his eyes for a brief moment, even in such dismal surroundings.

"For you maybe. But it'd have to be a pretty dress-"

He was interrupted by another few soldiers who pushed them out of their way as they hurried by.

"I suppose we should hurry," he urged, and they were off, running up to the clearing that led to the gorge. The sight here was spectacular. The valley below glowed with hundreds upon hundreds of torches to illuminate the growing army gathering below. It almost seemed like the valley was alive, for it moved with the tide of humanity.

The gorge seemed impossibly long, and here along the pathway, soldiers were strategically placed, those with the best arching skills, stretching their bows, aiming into the dark distance, far past the throng of humanity below. Nalia began the sprint along the pathway just as she was struck by a sharp pain, which rocked her to a stop.

"Oohh…" She murmured grabbing her head. Alistair skidded to a stop next to her, concern etched on his features.

"I can feel them," he whispered somewhere behind her, near her ear. "Do you see?" he added, reaching to grab onto her upper arm. Nalia couldn't breathe, she couldn't move.

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_Far in the distance, they came. Thousands of them, growling and hissing. Many melting with the shadows. Sharp teeth, glowing eyes. Growling. They came and came. Perhaps intelligent, but mostly not, they had only one goal. Destroy whatever and whomever got in their way. Slowly, they made their way through the edges of the Wilds, moving slowly, lumbering, screaming in their blood lust. They would not stop until everything was in ruins. _

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Nalia only realized she was moving once more when she felt the painful tug on her arm as Alistair began to run across the stone pathway crossing the gorge. The archers were at the ready, and fire arrows flew through the sky, causing the two wardens to duck lest they get in the way. The tower rose up formidably as they neared the end of the walkway, and Nalia rushed up the hill just as they could hear a distant scream.

"Darkspawn," stated Alistair, and Nalia felt her heart in her throat. Below, they heard the cry of their king. Her heart hammered wildly.

"ARCHERS!"

Then came the sounds of whizzing arrows. Just as Nalia got her bearings, something rushed at her. It growled and spit, and she automatically unsheathed her sword, sinking it into the underbelly of the beast. It fell with a gurgle, and Nalia stared in shock.

"What…how did they get here?" she managed to choke out, her breath short. She saw nothing in Alistair's wide gaze that indicated he knew what was going on.

"Come on," he said as he ran towards the tower entrance.

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As if even the Maker knew the severity of that night, Duncan saw the sky illuminated with a white lighting. It also illuminated what he knew would be everyone's worst fears. For from the distance, he could see them coming. All manner of them, large and small. He could feel them, hear their cries, their need for blood. It was dark, but there was no mistaking it. Cailan stood along the front lines, keeping his soldiers at the ready, even as the fire arrows now sailed the sky, exploding as they hit the ground. The illumination caused huge screams of fury from the approaching horde. The mages flanked the back, their voices could be heard as incantations rose into the darkness. The hounds barked.

It was as if the world was a slingshot, at the ready.

Duncan turned to see the Tower was still dark. Next to him the Loghain stared into the distance, frowning.

"This is not a good idea," he whispered, his face severe.

"We are here by order of your king," reminded Duncan, as he looked in the same direction, though he saw more than Loghain ever would.

One of the arrows flew over their heads, exploding against the enemy. There was a shrill scream, and the soldiers on the front lines shirked in fear, as Cailan worked frantically to keep them in line. He turned his all too familiar eyes on Duncan. How much like his brother the king looked!

"Where are the Wardens?" he asked, his tone still calm in all the chaos. Duncan nodded in respect to their leader.

"On their way to light the beacon to signal the assault, just as you wished."

"And so my brother is with them?"

"He is, King Cailan."

A look of relief flooded Cailan's features, and Duncan thought it touching to see that Cailan cared for a brother he did not really know. Fate had made it so, but it could not erase blood relation, after all.

"He is safe then," he reasoned. "Though I find him to be brave, and we all have to be brave."

He turned to the mass army.

" Do you hear that? Be brave!" he yelled over the impending doom. He then turned to the lines.

"WAR HOUNDS!" he screamed, and the pack of hundreds of heavy, tank dogs rushed forward, their paws hitting the ground hard, almost like the thunder that rumbled in the far off distance.

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Nalia rushed the third level of the completely destroyed tower. It had been overrun by the spawn, dozens of them. She had never seen creatures like those, with horrible breath, and sharp pointed teeth, and voices that seemed to be laughing at her, taunting her. She fought through each one as hard as she could, hearing the sounds of battle behind her as Alistair charged forward as well. No one had survived the tower takeover, except for one warrior and a rouge mage, who had joined their party, and now the foursome was moving as quickly as they could through the tower, the sounds of fighting through the broken windows down in the valley could be heard growing in fever pitch.

"Makers breath," Alistair choked. "What are these things doing in here? They weren't supposed to get ahead of the horde!"

Nalia shoved through a doorway, pushing her way to the next floor.

"Weren't you complaining that you wouldn't get to fight?" she growled, wiping the sweat from her forehead as she dashed up the steps.

"Well aren't you the practical light amongst all this insanity?" he quipped as he pummeled through the door. They battled their way to the top floor.

"Where is this beacon?" Nalia cried as they dashed through the doorway.

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Cailan's eyes grew wide as he saw the horde charge, and he turned his panicked eyes up to the darkened tower. What if something had gone wrong? He had sent his brother there to keep him safe, just in case, but what if…?

"There is no time for the beacon!" screamed Loghain, whose voice came from the terrified throng, although Cailan had no idea where his comrade now was. He lost his sense of grounding for a moment, and turned to look to the senior Grey Warden. Duncan shifted on his feet, and then Cailan burst through the line, charging first, and praying to the Maker that the others would follow.

"FULL FERELDEN!" he screamed, as he gave the signal to charge, and the full battle commenced. The valley was now filled with screams and battle, and blood was shed as the spawn collided with humanity.

As Duncan ran forward, his sword unfurled, he wondered if the king had made a grave miscalculation.

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The creature was the most horrific being Nalia had ever seen, both in her dreams and in her training as a hunter. It was huge, rising up to the top of the ceiling, and it stared at them with eyes so malevolent that she wanted to shrink back and cry. Her sword hung limp in her hand as she stared, feeling her companions stop and gasp. It had teeth and horns, and let out a fierce bellow, slobbering as it came at them. Nalia rushed forward, blade up just as Alistair tried to stop her.

"Ar tu na'din!" came her war cry. Alistair had no clue what she had just said, but he knew charging the beast was simply a death wish. He had seen these creatures before, and he knew their crushing blows were enough to-

"Don't!" he cried out, even as the mage shot forward a stunning spell to try to avert imminent disaster. It was too late. The creature grabbed Nalia up, and she fought viciously to try and get free of its grasp to no avail. She thought she heard something inside of her crack, and she let out a painful wail, cursing the creature who was growling at her as it waved her around viciously. Still she fought, twisting and turning in the impossible tightness of the huge fist, and tears rolled down her face from the pain.

What if this was it? What if she was to die by the hands of this horrid creature? Down below her she could see through the growing haze of pain that Alistair was hacking away at the thing, and the mage stood aside, casting spells that seemed to stun the creature. Each time its grip loosened, Nalia tried to fight it, but whatever it was that had broken inside of her made it impossible. She felt the blackness of unconsciousness threatening her now, and she stopped fighting the creature, instead focusing on staying alert. It was impossible. She felt the grip around her loosen, and then perhaps she was falling, but where she fell to, she had no clue.

Alistair, bloody and bruised, stumbled first, then fell, crawling forward to light the beacon at last, tears slipping down his face, leaving clean tracks in their wake.

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Those who fought for Ferelden would fail. There was too much blood. Too much carnage. Too many deaths and fallen comrades. The darkspawn would win. Loghain turned to see the light at the top of the tower, flickering at first then bursting into brightness, as if a signal in the terror of the night.

But it was too late, was it not?

"Signal retreat!" he hollered over the clamor around him, and even those who were confused did not argue, quickly betraying their king who continued to fight unbeknownst of the Loghain's sudden betrayal along the front lines. The back lines fell behind, began to retreat, run from the hordes of spawn coming after them.

But the sudden betrayal was not lost on Duncan, who had just fallen after a battle with an ogre. He turned, rushing along the bloodied battlefield towards his king, just as Cailan turned, his eyes wide, and a sword imbedded in his chest. Behind the king, Duncan could see men fleeing, rushing back towards Ostagar, like the cowards they truly were. Ironically it was much too late, as the darkspawn were now stronger and faster, and quickly overtook them, rushing the ruins and the tower.

It was over, then.

Duncan did what he could, fighting with everything in him, but he knew it was futile though he never gave up, not even when he was dealt the fatal blow, and felt the dagger rip through him as he fell alongside the now dead king. He could see as he died, the tower beacon lighting up the darkness. His Wardens had not let him down!

There was still hope, was there not? His time was now finished, but the Grey Wardens lived on.

"Maker watch over you," he choked out, as he fell dead to the ground.

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Alistair forced himself up on his forearms, and crawled through the burning wreckage and the corpse of the massive creature, sliding along the bloodied ground. The soldier that had helped them reach the tower was dead.

And Nalia! Something in him twisted with misery as he saw the body of the tiny elf on the other side of the room. Was it just that she had been a Grey Warden as well that this blow hit him so hard? He didn't know, but he managed to stumble forward, crawling again on his battle worn knees towards her body. The mage was crouching over Nalia. She was still in death, her body in shambles, arms and legs in a weird angle. The horrid creature had crushed her, and Alistair helplessly tried to move her body so that she didn't look so…twisted. He cradled her tenderly for a moment, so she wasn't on the ground any longer.

Tears sprung to his eyes as he realized the gravity of the situation. Outside there were screams of terror and he could hear soldiers running amuck. He moved her body from the center of the room, placing it on the ground with care, then got to his feet, swaying for a moment as pain rocked his body.

The door behind him crashed open, and Alistair turned, swiping at the blood and tears on his face as he saw the horde rushing him, screaming inhumanely as he stumbled back.

All was lost...all was lost.

_Maker, I am yours._


	4. Witches of the Wilds

_Once again thank you so much for reading – I appreciate the adds and the interest in the story! Muah. I present to you the next installment – and it is quite short! I was always interested in what Flemeth and Alistair talked about while Morrigan was in the hut with my Warden. So here is my version of events! Bioware owns the dashingly awkward templar and Flemeth the witch, but I own everything else! _

_LCailan_

**ooo**

**~Witches of the Wilds~**

**ooo**

_"What is the name they have for mother and I? Apostates? Truly it boggles the mind."_

**ooo**

**ooooo**

**ooo**

Alistair winced when he awoke, as he tried to shift in his prone state. When he opened his eyes, the sun was setting to his left, a huge orange ball of fire brilliantly painted against a purplish canvas studded with white clouds.

Was he outside? What had happened?

He lifted his hands, and wiggled his fingers. He touched his face, groaned at the pain that all these small movements afforded him. He felt the stirring of evening breeze ruffling his hair. It faintly reminded him of late spring evenings, of green grasses, of the coming nighttime. He breathed in for it was a comfort. Arl Eamon had taken him hunting as a boy, and this scent…this reminded him of those days. When things had been much simpler, so much the sweeter, so-

"So finally you wake," said a somewhat familiar voice, and Alistair turned his head (painfully), blinking to clear his vision. He was looking into the green-gold eyes of…of...

_Maker be blasted, do I know her?_

Yes. He did. It was…she was…the woman who had taken the Warden treaties as safekeeping, wasn't she? The mother of that pretentious bitch Morrigan that they had met the day before the Joining. His moment of peace was shattered.

Morrigan's voice came back to him speaking to Nalia…

_You there. Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name, and I'll tell you mine._

He had hated her stupid, self righteous tone. Nalia had answered, more calm than he had been. Was it all elves, or was the one who he was lucky to travel with just granted such patience? He closed his eyes, more words flooding his mind…

_And you may call me Morrigan, if you wish. Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest, something that is here no longer._

He had grown so angry!

_Here no longer? You stole them, didn't you? You're…you're some kind of sneaky…witch-thief!_

He opened his eyes. Maker. Even now, the accusation sounded stupid in his mind, and her laughter had rung through the wilds, as she mocked him…

_How very eloquent of you. Tell me, how one steals from dead men…_

And she had brought them to her mother, this witch of the wilds who was now crouched near him.

Alistair turned his face away, not wanting to be rude to who clearly had saved his life, even if he didn't know yet, how it had happened. Did he know her name? No. And he had no recollection of how he had ended up with her, when the last thing he remembered…

He couldn't! Couldn't remember! She was watching him, not unkindly, but not as a normal person would, and Alistair wondered at her grey-gold eyes, which seemed to peer more deeply into him than he wished.

She was Chasind – all those living in the Wilds were. Most likely a cast off from the Circle, an illegal mage.

_Apostate!_

The accusation ran through his pain addled mind, and his bad habit of sticking his armor clad foot into his mouth almost got the best of him, though in the end Alistair stayed silent, uttering only a moan.

"Wait, am I…I'm back in the Wilds?" he choked out, gathering his confounded thoughts.

"Your memory serves you good boy, even after trauma," replied the old hag.

Alistair tried to sit up, fighting with a bought of dizziness which grounded him for the time being.

"What happened?" he demanded weakly, still turned off by the idea that he was with the witch of the wilds once more. He squinted from the now flaming setting sun. "I know where I am, but I don't…quite…recall…how-"

The missing pieces of the horrific puzzle suddenly fell together for Alistair, as if an anvil had fallen. Too late, he realized he hadn't really _wanted_ to remember. His eyes fluttering closed, her relieved everything...

Screams. Blood. Darkness and lighting. The ogre and how it had...c-crushed her. Killed her, and he…he had been stumbling, broken and in pain, and the darkspawn and raided the tower, and he had thought, surely, his time to die had come.

"Ohh…" he whimpered, covering his face with his hands. "Everything is over, isn't it? Everyone is dead. The tower fell, didn't it? What about the battle? What happened? How did I end up here? How am I still alive?" he asked, his words tumbling over one another in his grief and anxiety.

The woman did not reply, instead moving to the fire that was burning near her hut, and stirring something in a large pot, before using a stick to retrieve a white cloth with which she cleaned his face.

"Everything will be clear to you in time," she estimated. Alistair knew he ought not to ask questions which would yield answers he did not want to hear, but he couldn't help himself.

"What happened with the battle?" he tried once more. "Please, I-I need to know. I was with- I mean…the people there. The King. Duncan, my-my…"

The hag sighed.

"Ostagar has fallen. The darkspawn have won. The king is dead."

Her eyes sought his, but Alistair turned away in shock. He could not even will himself to move.

"So is your Duncan."

Alistair was glad he had not looked at the woman as she had spoken, for the news delivered a blow he could not comprehend and tears which he did not want to shed. He was a man, a warrior! How could loss affect him as such?

_He was the only one who knew you. The only one who hadn't pawned you off on someone else, and forced you into a life you did not want. That's why you cry for him. It is not just Ferelden's loss. It is yours as well._

"It is over then, isn't it? The Grey Wardens are dead." he snorted softly, the sound choked with his pain. "If this is a true blight, there is no one left now to stop it."

The old witch laughed cruelly.

"You have a brain boy, have you not? If the Grey Wardens are dead, who are you?" she questioned. "And what about the girl?" she continued.

Alistair's heart stopped as his head spun back around, and he tried to sit up. Could it be? Even the words caused his heart to soar. "What girl?" he managed.

"The elf, boy! Are you stupid? The one in the tower with you!"

"She's dead!" he replied in disbelief, and it was Nalia's fate which had roused him to a standing position, albeit and unsteady one. "I thought, I mean, I saw her…crushed…bloody and I…"

The words conjured up images once more, the roar of the ogre as it worked to crush Nalia in it's grip, and her screams echoing in that topmost tower room, screams of terror and of pain. He could still see in his minds eye how she had fought to the end, struggling against the large fist, angry and determined to survive. He had thought her incredibly resilient and brave. And now she was dead.

"She fought so hard…"

He faded away and this seemed to issue another cackle from the witch.

"Perhaps you underestimate what I can do," she finished and with a flourish motioned towards the dilapidated hut. "She is inside, resting just as you were. She was hurt badly, mind you, but it was nothing I could not have fixed. You can be reunited as soon as she wakes."

Alistair rushed the hut, ignoring the woman's words, wanting, needing to see for himself that Nalia truly _was_ alive, that he wasn't alone, and that, thank the _Maker _he would not be facing what was ahead by himself.

Something stopped him, and he felt his limbs struggle against his command, as if stiffening by some unknown force and he turned to see the disparaging glance from the witch.

"I said, you wait," she commanded, her hand lifted in the air as she cast a spell which froze him.


	5. The Last Two Wardens

_Originally the next two chapters were actually one but – I ended up reworking everything to put in new dialogue and then I separated one chapter into two. Here's the first part – waking up in the Wilds and the bickering that ensues between our favorite templar and the sarcastic apostate. Thanks for the continued reading – it makes me so happy! Let me know how I'm doing! _

_LCailan_

**ooo**

**~The Last Two Wardens~**

"_Of the two of you that remain, are you not the senior Grey Warden here? I find it curious that you allow another to lead, while you follow."_

ooooooooo

_Nalia was dreaming. The Wilds surrounded her, although this time they were not wrought with blood and death, but with beauty. The trees rose up around her, lush and full of life, and cast their leafy shadows over the plains they covered. She could hear birds, and she could hear the skittering of animals. There was grass beneath her boots, soft in some places, hard in others, but thick, wet and swampy. She trudged through it along the way to their destination. Behind her were Jory and Daveth, and Alistair flanked her other side. Ahead of them, lay their destination, the chest that contained the Warden treaties._

_It was then that she appeared. A woman much taller than she was, lithe and graceful with each step she took. Her hair was black, but as the sun hit it, there seemed to be hints of gold and red. It was pinned haphazardly to the nape of her slender neck. She felt the woman's eyes so deep it was like her soul was being touched. Eyes that spoke a thousand things all at one time without a word uttered. She was beautiful, like some sort of…_

Nalia wondered if the dream had even been real, for the woman now standing in front of her may have been beautiful, but the loveliness was tainted by a bad attitude and a rapier tongue. Her almond shaped eyes glittered as she approached the bed, gold in the shadows, and then more green as she stepped closer. This time she was holding a small glass with a greenish liquid within. This she handed to Nalia, after taking the white towel she had offered her before.

"Drink," she ordered watching Nalia closely. "'Tis an old Chasind remedy with my own special touch," She explained a wry smile tinging her full lips. Nalia held the cup, watching Morrigan with some trepidation as she held the cup to her lips. Nothing since her awakening in the hut warranted the belief that Morrigan wanted to help. In fact she had just finished saying…had she just really said..?

Nalia's mouth fell open as she stared at Morrigan.

"You say you believe your mother should have rescued the King? You mock her for rescuing me?" she asked. "Why should I believe you are even trying to help me?" she questioned with skepticism. Morrigan's laughter filled the whole hut as she turned from the bed.

"I care not what you do or believe, elf," she stated in a tone dripping with distain. "I only do as Mother wishes, and she wishes you get well. And as far as my opinion on the late King Cailan, I was simply being practical. 'Tis the truth that the reward on his head is much greater than that of a Grey Warden. Surely you agree?"

Nalia expression was one of resentment as she glared into the hot beverage once more. But in the end, she sipped. It was slightly sweet with a hint of…some kind of flower. Which kind though, she was not certain. But even so, she continued to drink because she hoped that it would make the pain go away.

_Dar harel._

She hated to admit fear, but the truth was there. She had been hurt before, but this pain was so different. Each breath was work like she had never known and she felt twinges of that pain with each beat of her heart. Nothing had prepared her for what had happened in the tower of Ishal, and she would never forget what it felt like to be crushed like she was an insignificant-

Shaking off her fear, she continued to sip carefully, allowing the warmth to fill her, and it now began to change and she could feel it flowing through her veins, warming her blood and at the same time it loosened her tense, aching muscles. She moved her fingers, her toes. Each movement was fluid, smooth. It hurt less. She looked up at Morrigan in surprise.

"Tis not me," she replied, seeing the look of awe on the elf's face. "A recipe of Mother's. I am no healer, though I admit that it is better warm, is it not? That is my special touch," she finished as she neared the bed once more. Nalia nodded mutely, wanting to weep from relief. But relief would not be hers until she knew what had happened.

Pieces of the horror had reformed themselves in her mind like some macabre puzzle she simply could not erase. She knew it was not good, and Morrigan had not offered any news of the battle, the casualties, or even if those Nalia had traveled with were still alive. She feared her answers as much as she needed to know them and finally she worked up her courage enough to speak.

"I…you have not said what happened at Ostagar," she began looking down at the worn blanket draped over her knees. "Should I assume that it is not good news?" she asked her voice strained. Morrigan had taken her empty cup and walked across the room to set it on a wooden table. She spoke then.

"'Tis not a poor deduction on your part. The battle was lost. The man who waited for your signal fled, those he betrayed were massacred. But as you know, Mother managed to save you and your unfortunately dim witted companion. He awoke two days ago, and I must say although he is an abysmal warrior he is quite good at whining."

"Alistair?"

"He veers between denial of what has happened and stone shock," she stated her tone dripping with dislike. "'Tis glad I am that you came to, for I suspect he has harbored the fear that he was alone and would be taking on the duties given him by your Duncan without the help of someone more intelligent than himself. At any rate, he was quite glad to learn you had survived."

Nalia's head was swimming with memories, some clear and some muddled. She watched as Morrigan gracefully sank down on the edge of the bed, but even though the act seemed sympathetic, the look on her face was not. Nalia did not care however, for she was hungry for knowledge. She wanted to know more about what had happened, how they had ended up back in the Wilds, and why Morrigan's mother had rescued them in the first place. But Morrigan's scoffing comments about whose life was worth more had turned her off of that line of questioning. Instead she sighed, wondering of Alistair.

"How is he?"

There was an audible snort.

"He is as you are, though frankly, he has eaten away at all my patience with his tantrums and childish behavior. He has been moping and tearing up since he heard about the demise of who you call the Grey Warden leader. I would know more of him, this Warden leader? To listen to Alistair speak it would be an assumption that he was equitable to the Maker?"

This was said with clear sarcasm and Morrigan's green gold eyes glittered maliciously. Nalia looked down, feeling torn. On one hand, she understood what Morrigan was so unforgivingly trying to say. But on the other hand…Alistair had known few friends besides Duncan. But then again, he was Alistair…he was irritating and he WAS a shemlen…

Morrigan seemed to read Nalia's mind.

"Irritating," she summed up quickly, moving to the other side of the small hut. It seemingly only had two or three rooms. "He is irritating. How you could travel with such a person I do not know."

The elf watched the witch.

"But you must know I was not given a choice," she replied to which Morrigan gave acknowledgement with a fluid nod.

"Not many of us are, it seems," she said over her shoulder in a honey smooth tone. "Nevertheless, the fool waits," she added, nodding towards the door leading outside.

Nalia sighed. She got up, trying to assess the damage that her body had taken, and as she recalled once more the painful grip within which she had found herself before she passed out, she decided she didn't want to _know_ how badly she had been hurt. Morrigan opened the door for her, and she stepped out with some hesitation onto the front court of the small hut. At least…the ache had passed, now just a whisper of what it had been.

Alistair whirled when he heard the door opening and Nalia watched him rush forward, a smile breaking out on his features like the sun over a gray horizon. It seemed to light up his face, and she had to admit that something in the pit of her stomach responded to the smile. He seemed familiar…the most familiar person to her since the last time she had seen her clan.

"You're…you're alive!" he breathed. "Maker is praised! I thought you were dead for sure!"

It was the second time Nalia had ever seen him smile, and she looked down at herself.

"I…I'm fine," she told him softly. "I think, anyway."

"Thanks to…Morrigan's mother," he said quickly, though in a way that made it clear how disturbed he was by the whole scenario. Morrigan sneered.

"Oh yes, let's make it sound like Mother and I are so horrible, shall we?" She quipped with well delivered sarcasm as she folded her hands across her chest watching Alistair with keen dislike. "Especially since if it weren't for us you'd have died in the tower. But by all means, say what you wish, fool. In the end, you will end up dead and I will still be thriving. The strong survive and the weak minded…well you understand."

Her smile was cruel. Alistair's eyes narrowed.

"Why is it that you must make a comment about everything?" he stated, his words snide. "We weren't talking to you. I'm sorry, did your mother not give you the attention you needed as a child?"

Morrigan snorted.

"Even most fools know when to keep silent. You simply do not. It is not my fault that your idiotic comments warrant replies."

Nalia looked up, ready to chastise them both for their incessant dislike each other. It was beginning to grate on her already raw nerves. She pulled Alistair towards the hut by the edge of his leather gauntlet. He let out a whine.

"Hey! Who are you to drag me around?" he accused his eyes flashing. Nalia's face was turned down in a frown.

"Look, I know this turned out horribly for you. For both of us," she found herself saying, although she made no mention of how hopeless their situation seemed now. Her tone remained firm, slightly on edge from the tension.

Alistair stared at Nalia shaking his head in disbelief.

"Duncan is gone," he choked. "The army has been slain. We are…we are alone," he moaned. "I never thought- I never…when I thought you were dead, I wondered how I could do this alone! I'm not a leader! I'm not even close! When I was in training I couldn't even get my hound to listen to me!"

Nalia frowned, realizing now what Morrigan had meant, and she fought hard against her irritation, trying not to snap.

"Alistair."

She took a huge breath.

"I know this isn't easy, but you're not the only one who's lost something," she finished glaring at him. Her glare must have touched the wrong vein as he suddenly flung himself away from her.

"Don't I know it!" he spit. "I never said otherwise! All I said is that…that this is…"

He turned away from her, his jaw set in a hard line. Morrigan met his gaze, her eyes glowing.

"Ah, so I was correct?" she questioned softly. "All this incessant whining because you are frightened, Alistair? Were you afraid of being alone for you fear failure? Is that why you insist on behaving like a little boy? I did not even know that they made cowardly Grey Wardens," she challenged. "Pity."

The only sound in the next moment was the clang of Alistair's splint mail and the glinting of the sun off of his blade as he pointed it at Morrigan in his grief and now anger.

"Why don't you run off and die or let me take care of it for you," he hissed. Morrigan watched him, her face twisting into a sneer.

"I should like to see you try," she replied. "It has been you Templars who have been hunting us apostates for many years now? And yet, I am still free. Shall we call a truce now or when you lie on the cold hard ground dying?" she questioned. Alistair did not lower his blade, nor did Morrigan back down, her eyes challenging him to continue.

Nalia ran between them, her blue eyes wide in shock.

"Stop! Halam Sahlin! Both of you!" she cried out angrily. "Don't we all have better things to do than fight amongst each other?" she exclaimed. Alistair frowned irritated beyond his own understanding by the small elf.

"Don't we have better things to do than try to translate what you're trying to say?" he mocked. Nalia's eyes flashed hatefully but she restrained her desire to rip him to shreds. She was too scared, too tired, and too sick. She wanted to lie down and sob. But she couldn't.

So instead, she turned to Morrigan's mother.

"Thank you," she said with sincerity that she had not felt in a long time, her voice trembling with the effort to stay calm. "If you hadn't…saved our lives, surely we would have perished on top of that tower. What can I do to repay you?" she said her voice rising up strong in spite of her fear of the unknown that lay ahead.

The old woman laughed, though no one knew if it was at Nalia's comments or the entire situation.

"Child, I don't want anything from you that you aren't already expected to do! You're a Grey Warden, even if your companion is not acting as such right now. Is it not your duty to gather your remaining allies and create a new front against the Blight? This is what I want from you."

Nalia stared at the older woman. It sounded like such a simple request, really. However the weight of those words erased all simplicity, and it did not help when she glanced at Alistair and he wore a look of utter confusion and uncertainty. How were two Grey Wardens who had no idea what to do going to from then on? There was no one to lead them, and she had no idea where to go next.

"That's what you want?" she echoed lamely.

"Do you have a hearing problem, girl?" replied the old witch. "This is my home too, you know," she said a sardonic smile on her wrinkled face. "I have been here ages, and do not wish to perish at the hand of the taint. I have been through it once already so it seems quite unfair that I must face it once more?" she questioned and then turned in a slow circle. "This place, these wilds and everything in them are a part of me just as sure as that heart that beats within your chest. I cannot leave here, and so I must put my trust in someone to whom the job of saving this land is entrusted to. Never forget, girl, that there are many who count on you now."

She gave Alistair a sharp glare with those strange golden eyes, and he looked shamed.

"Both of you," She stated firmly. Nalia looked down at the hard packed dirt at her feet. It was the first time she felt slight annoyance at her clan. Though she had always been extremely loyal to her people and especially to Keeper Marathari and her clan, she couldn't help but feel the taint of bitterness coloring her current thoughts.

_If this is my fate, why did you sent me out into a world I did not know? A world that I don't understand and cannot navigate? You must have known there was much more besides the forests!_

But how were any of her people to know what the future would hold? And how was anyone to know what would happen to Duncan? She sighed with resignation, looking back up at the old witch. What choice was there now? There was no Ostagar, her clan was gone, and Duncan was dead.

"Then we shall do ask you ask," she replied solemnly, wondering _how_ this would happen. "There is nothing to do but forge ahead."

Her words were soft and the witch nodded with satisfaction.

"You are wise," she said. "I did not know such was possible with the elves. They have been…stubborn have they not?"

"Only because we were given reason," Nalia responded promptly with some defensiveness. The witch cackled.

"Do not get your haunches up, child. I mean you no hostility. Now," she said moving towards Morrigan. "Shall we set up a place for our guests to rest their heads?"

Nalia watched as Morrigan helped her mother prepare extra stew and find extra blankets. They were scratchy but warm and dry. The younger witch looked none to pleased. As the sun set along the purple sky, she finally spoke, her eyes glittering for a moment.

"Mother, it seems rather...disheartening, does it not?" she drawled, her dark eyes gazing sharply at Alistair as if it was his fault everything had happened the way it had. "Ferelden's fate in the hands of these two? What can _they_ possibly do?"

It was clear that the young witch held the two wardens in great disdain, though for what reason Nalia had no idea.

"Hush child," chastised her mother. Morrigan seemed unconcerned at her mother's scolding.

"I am simply saying that I find it curious as to what one small elf and a rather weepy and feeble minded man could possibly do to fight the Blight."

Alistair turned pink.

"Are you calling me a stupid?" he questioned sharply. Morrigan's laugh rang out into the evening air.

"I call it what it is, dear fool," she replied. "Some drink from the fountain of knowledge, whereas you simply gargle."

Nalia interrupted the latest fight by getting in between them.

"_This_ is not helping," she stated firmly, wondering why it was that Alistair and Morrigan had taken such an instant dislike to one another. The older witch nodded giving her daughter a look imbued with meaning. Morrigan backed off, though her eyes still flashed hatefully in Alistair's direction. The old witch spoke.

"The elf speaks wisely. I recommend you both get some rest. Come, the stew is finished, and then you have a long road ahead of you in the morn," she said, moving towards the blazing fire on which stood a black pot of fragrant stew. Nalia wasn't sure of the contents, as she was not accustomed to human food. She took the bowl proffered her, and joined Alistair on the hard ground near the blazing fire as the two witches ate nearer the hut. It was an awkward affair. When supper was finished, Nalia offered the help of cleaning, to which the old woman declined, sending Morrigan inside instead.

"We will speak in the morning," she suggested, before bidding Nalia a good night. She spared Alistair a glance but said nothing and then shut the door behind her as she entered the hut. For the first time in hours, there was blessed silence.


	6. Of Cailan, Tamlen and Ironbark Shields

_Thanks to all who are reading! I appreciate the last few adds, as always. I'm trying to keep it as interesting as possible….Nalia and Alistair get to know each other a bit better in this chapter, and there's a little more insight into Alistair's mindset. The quote is anonymous – couldn't find a source._

_LCailan_

**ooo**

**~Of Cailan, Tamlen and Ironbark Shields~**

oooooooooo

"_You can close your eyes to the things you do not want to see, but you cannot close your heart to the things you do not want to feel."_ oooooooooo

The night was cool, but not freezing, and Alistair lay down near the fire to garner comfort from its warmth. He listened to the crackling sound as he stared up at the night sky with its distant stars, lighting up the darkness weakly. He wondered if Duncan was there now, watching over him, and even more importantly, _watching_ him to see if he had made the right choice in recruiting him. What if he couldn't do it? What if he was doomed to failure and consequently Ferelden was doomed as well? Could he face such a fate? After everything he had been faced with since becoming a Grey Warden, and everything he had already shirked?

That was the worst bit, really. That he had already shirked responsibilities most others would have taken on.

_You're a bad man, Alistair. A bad, bad man._

He didn't want to think about Cailan. Or the battle at Ostagar, or the fact that the King was now dead…

_Is this some kind of joke? Really? Can an ex templar ever get a break? I'm sure there is someone up there just having a fine time of it, laughing at all the stupid things I've done, but now things are just getting a little out of hand aren't they?_

He had already shirked his responsibility to the templar vow.

_So I didn't want to run around slaying mages! Is that so horrible? What do they do all day long in that chantry? Boring. Not even that great armor is worth doing what they do. That's for sure._

And now King Cailan – no….no, not just King Cailan- _brother Cailan-_ was dead.

Cailan was dead. He had never seen Cailan as anything but the king – for their brotherly relationship had been nonexistent, and even after they were aware of each other, neither had made the effort to hone that relationship. Alistair did not know why Cailan had never reached out, but he knew his own reasons. He was the bastard heir, the one no one wanted to talk about…the one that no one wanted to know. He had not wanted to upset Cailan's life. After all, if Isolde Guerrin's behavior was any indication…

_Maker, if I didn't know better, I'd have said that woman had been tragically born without a heart._

His soured thoughts turned to the woman who had raised him. As much as he had been grateful to Arl Eamon Guerrin for taking him in after his mother had fled the royal castle pregnant with a child whom she didn't want King Maric to know about, Alistair resented that Eamon's wife had never taken to him.

_Was I such a horrible child? Sure, I got in trouble. And I was a little pain in the arse. I'm sure of it. I'm a pain in the arse now. I'm whiny. I'm a little stubborn. But I was just a child! My own mother didn't live to know me. Then Eamon didn't want me either, sending me away to that blasted Chantry. I'd say it was a Maker forsaken place, but that wouldn't make any sense._

Alistair now lay wondering why it was his brother and not he who had been slain.

_How is this possible? I should have been killed! Cailan had things to do, he had a country to lead, people wanted him around! What did I have going for me? Poor as a chantry mouse. Somewhat clumsy templar skills. Recruitment into the Grey Wardens. I'm not even that handsome! At least Cailan looked good in that armor he was wearing! This mail fits me all wrong. And these gauntlets are itchy. I bet his socks didn't have holes in them. It should have been me who died! Blast it! _

But the thoughts that flooded him after were even more frightening than what he felt were his shortcomings. Who would take the vacated throne now? Even the thought that he, bastard or not, was next in line made him want to fall on his own sword. That or get swallowed up in the deep roads and die in battle. That way…that way he wouldn't die a complete failure. In the end, he could not stop the thoughts. And it was unfortunate that he could not resurrect Cailan.

_Could I really be next in line? No. Absolutely not, I am NOT kingly material! There is no way a crown could even __**fit**__ on this knobby head of mine! I'd put on those long garments and trip on my way up to the throne! Right. And even if I do make it up there in one piece, and the crown fits, they'll take one look at me and I'll be the laughing stock amongst every person in Ferelden. No way. I won't do it. I can't do it. I don't belong on the throne._

He stared up at the sparkling stars. His decision to never take the throne had been one made many years ago, when he had learned of his parentage. His mind had not changed – Alistair knew what he could and could not do. And power? It frightened him. He was horrible with people, and that equated to his being a horrible leader, didn't it? Morrigan hated him, and Nalia could barely stand to be near him for more than a span of a few minutes. If he could not get along with his comrades, what hope did he have with the rest of the world?

_Blast it. Blast the Maker. Blast Andraste. Blast it good and hard._

He didn't belong on the throne, so he had to belong somewhere else. He was a Grey Warden, after all. That at least, had been something good. Even if Duncan was dead. His eyes watered at the thought as they had numerous times in the past several days.

_So Alistair, if you really feel you'll make an embarrassment of Ferelden's throne, where DO you belong? Here? With the Grey Wardens? There are only two remaining, and the one who isn't you…well, she hates you. Good job. You're one for one. Not good odds at all._

The thought that he belonged here and now made him remember he wasn't alone and perhaps that was why he realized there was a soft clanking of metal to his left. He turned his head on the makeshift pillow to glance at the elf.

_Bet she'd be glad if I left. She'd start talking in that weird elf language thanking her gods that I left. Blast it._

Nalia was sitting cross legged near the fire, her armor laid out on the ash covered dirt in front of her. She was gently cleaning her equipment, holding it as if with reverence, gently wiping at the nicks in the shield. Alistair wasn't sure if it was the light playing tricks on him or something else, but whatever the shield was made out of seemed to glow a bluish color. It may have been metal, may have been something else. He did not know.

The male warden didn't even realize he was staring at the beginning, his eyes taking in the shield she held, but then inevitably his eyes were drawn to her. Once again he was reminded of how few elves he had known in his life. In the firelight, her blond hair looked almost silver, although he knew it wasn't so. He admired how thickly it fell down her back, for when in battle it was held back by leather ties, now it was loose and free around her face. She was tiny! He wanted to ask if all elves were that tiny. And those pointy ears! They almost made him laugh. They would peak out from between thick strands of that silvered sun blond hair. In contrast to her small features, Nalia had the biggest blue eyes Alistair had ever seen. Even the Revered mother at the Chantry he had been raised in didn't have eyes as bright as Nalia's.

_Bet she would be jealous. After all, she's the revered mother, and the Maker gave someone else eyes like Andraste's. Or, well, whatever Andraste should have looked like, because Maker knows she might have been ugly. Wait, what I am thinking about? She's an elf! Do elves even come from the Maker?_

He was gazing on her face again, his eyes running along her forehead, admiring the most interesting thing about her now; the faint but intricate artwork that adorned her otherwise unmarked skin. It trailed from one corner of her face to the other, the elaborate markings coming together in a beautiful pattern just above the bridge of her tiny nose. He had never seen art like this on the elves in Denerim and was mesmerized. Perhaps he had been looking too long, or she felt his eyes on her, for Nalia looked up from her work and Alistair flushed bright red before looking away.

_Great. Now she'll think I'm creepy. This is why I don't talk to women. Because I'm creepy._

"That's a nice…I mean, nice armor," he commented quickly, if only to assuage the discomfort that blanketed them. "Shield, I mean. Nice shield."

_Brilliant save._

Whatever sarcastic thoughts ate away at Alistair's conscience, Nalia was not aware as she looked down at the piece in her lap and then back up at him, a wrinkle of confusion crossing her face and then disappearing.

"What? Oh, yes, our…our crafters are very good," she said and then hesitated a moment before lifting up the shield and handing it carefully over to Alistair. She had never really allowed someone else to handle the shield – it meant too much to her – but the nonstop fighting between her companions thus far had been irritating, and this quiet silence was a welcome change. He sat up, taking it in his hands. It had a small emblem on it, and up close he knew it was not a trick of the light – the shield did glow a faint blue and it was not metal. He looked at Nalia with interest.

"What is it made out of?"

"Ironbark," she related. "Found in our forests. The Dalish have a knack for working with it, and we sell it often to the shemlen. It is very strong so it makes a sturdy shield and formidable weapons," She finished watching him as he admired it. She found herself missing her people and fiercely proud of what they could do that others could not. Alistair turned it over, running his roughened fingertips along the carving.

"So it's wood?" he asked in surprise.

"Yes!" she replied, and then joined him quickly by the fire, so that she could look more closely.

"That is the sign of our clan," she explained at the strange words etched in the bottom. Then Alistair noticed the sudden sadness in her eyes. "And that is Tamlen's name," she told him more softly her fingertips resting in one certain place, over a word he could not read. There was a long silence, and Alistair could feel that she was silently bearing the pain of a great loss. She finally spoke, the words strained.

"He was a great hunter in my clan. My best friend, and my…"

Nalia turned her head, not wanting to shed more useless tears over Tamlen. Alistair stared.

_What now? How do I make this better? What am I thinking? I CAN'T make it better! This is awkward at best._

"I'm sorry," he murmured, hoping the tone of his voice reflected it. He wasn't sure how to act. "He was your husband?"

Nalia looked up at him with some confusion. Alistair turned red.

"Oh, do you elves not…have husbands? And wives?"

"No, of course we do," Nalia replied quickly, her hands clenched around her shield. "He wasn't my husband," she continued sadly. "But he was my promised. We were going to be married one day."

The wistfulness of her voice saddened Alistair. He nodded, thinking now of his own shortcomings and how he would have to change so much about the life that he had thought he would live. Now…everything would be different. Everything was different for her.

"The Blight changes everything," he replied. Nalia looked angry. She looked confused and pained.

"It was his shield that they gave me," she continued, her voice strained with tears. "So that I could fight for the Dalish, for our clan, and for Tamlen who..who…"

She lifted her head, staring up at the sky.

"He was the best hunter in our clan," she told him then, pride ringing in her voice. "And he was so smart. Always ready for anything, so curious, so brave."

She continued speaking, although she wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was the stress of what they had gone through or maybe it was that she knew that her life from before was over. So she told Alistair of Tamlen. Of how they had come upon the ancient ruins in the Brecilian forest, and of the mirror, and how she had met Duncan.

"They never found Tamlen's body. I do not know if it was darkspawn, but it was some…illness…"

Alistair hung his head.

"Duncan talked of the taint. Once you are exposed to it, you never…you never get better, and it is better to be recruited into the Grey Wardens than to die from it. It is like a disease…that kills you slowly."

_Wow…now THAT is the way to make her feel better. Sure. She mourns the loss of a future husband and you talk to her of how she's dying slowly. Super._

Nalia bit her lip.

"The Keeper was able to revive me, and I regained my strength, but yes, I understand what you're saying. Tamlen didn't make it, because without his body the Keeper wasn't able to do anything."

She was clutching the small shield to herself as she finished speaking, clearly stricken. They were sitting side by side then, silent for a long while, each pondering their own losses.

"I wish it had been me in Duncan's place," Alistair said finally. "He was like a father to me. And I…I let him down. So maybe I know how it feels to wish that you were…well, not where you are now. I mean, about Tamlen. Wanting to have been the one to help him, to find him…"

Nalia turned to look at him, but his head was hung in shame.

"Duncan…" he began and stopped, shaking his head vigorously. No. Not again. Then he heaved a huge sigh.

"I behaved horribly today, I handled it all wrong. I handle everything wrong, and I needed him and now he is gone," he said his tone reflecting shame. "I am sorry Nalia. I spoke harshly to you, and I treated Morrigan's mother horribly. I am sorry."

Nalia's voice was soft when she replied.

"He was a good judge of character, you said so yourself. He left you, perhaps he knew his fate, and he saved you so that you could continue on, do his work," she proposed. "And I am with you. I have no other place to go, Alistair. I cannot go home, and I must avenge Tamlen, I must fight for our clan, for our forest. We are in as much danger as everyone else."

He turned to look at her then.

"I was so happy to know you had not…"

His words faltered and Nalia nodded. They both knew he spoke of her near death within the Tower of Ishal, but neither would put voice to it.

"Perhaps it wasn't my time," she finished for him.

Alistair took a huge breath and nodded, straightening his back. The fire before them rose higher, snapped and crackled before settling once more. He knew one of the first things he would do when the threat of Blight was over would be to honor Duncan in some way. He didn't know when that would be, or even if he would make it that far. He wondered if a funeral service would be enough. He also wondered if the elves did something special for their dead, but he didn't feel comfortable asking. When he glanced at her, Nalia's head was bent over her shield though she remained still.

_She's probably still thinking about her dead husband to be. That's such a shame. I'm lucky. I didn't have to worry about a lost love. Perspective, Alistair. You might think you've got it bad, but really? What's your biggest problem? A hole in your sock? It's not really as bad as you think._

"Did you leave someone behind, Alistair?" came her question after a long silence. He looked slightly startled.

"Behind?" he questioned. The voice was squeaky almost as if she had caught him doing something he should have been. He turned pink.

"Someone you love," she elaborated and then he understood. A woman. A wife, perhaps. He cleared his throat.

_Now she's going to know how pathetic I really am. A man of marriageable age without a woman to his name. Without even someone to fancy. I don't even know if a girl has even looked at me before! Why am I such a failure?_

Trying to come up with a good reason was difficult, and Alistair fumbled around in a weakly pathetic way to make sense of what he was trying to say.

"I had little time, while I was in training, to…well, the chantry discouraged what they called…distraction," he related. "And I was…it was difficult to…I didn't know any girls. Not just girls, but I didn't even know any elven females or dwarven females, or…mage females. Wait, never mind. I already covered them, didn't I?" he asked flustered.

Nalia's eyes were wide as she listened and Alistair felt like once his mouth was open he couldn't compel it shut and so he continued to spew random words.

"I entered the Chantry at age six, and was there until six months ago," he reminded her, as if this was the answer to all his mumbling. Finally, he fell into his silent mortification.

Nalia tried to keep her face from reflecting the amusement she felt.

"So you haven't met many women?" she asked him then and Alistair, bright as a cherry, nodded.

"I don't know how to speak to girls…females…I mean, women, I mean."

Nalia raised an eyebrow.

"Really? You're talking to me just fine, I should think," she pointed out and if it was possible for a man to turn redder, Nalia did not know.

He snorted. "That's not- I mean, not the same. You're just- not a girl. That is to say that you're just…I mean- an elf, so-"

She stood up and he realized his grave mistake too late. He jumped up as well, nearly tumbling over her equipment.

"Wait, that's not what I meant!" he exclaimed, in shock. Nalia stood away from him, hands on her hips, her eyes a steely blue now.

"Oh? Which part? The part where you said I wasn't a woman, or the part where you claimed to be too good for an elf?" she spit.

"See? This is what happens! Nalia, I'm sorry. I should just skip all conversation, open my mouth and insert my foot. I swear!" he apologized. Nalia gathered her things and then moved them all the way to the other side of the fire, away from Alistair.

"I knew there was a reason why I shouldn't bother talking to you," she grumbled before curling up in her blanket and lying still. "Stupid shem," she muttered.

"So I'm a stupid shem! There's not much I can do about that!" he raged, his face still flaming from his earlier mistake. Nalia said nothing, but at that moment, Morrigan stuck her head out of the open window in the hut, where she had heard the entire conversation.

"The self awareness of your own stupidity does you a great service, Alistair."

"Oh go cut out your tongue, you insipid witch," he spit.

"My, such a big word for a small man," she tittered, her eyes sparkling with amusement at having another chance to mock the templar. "Unfortunately, even if I did such as you suggest, you would still be stupid."

Then she disappeared just as quickly as she had appeared. After that, the only sound in the night was the crackle of the fire.


	7. What Flemeth Knew

_Many thanks for the adds this week! As always, it keeps me writing. This is where my story starts to veer off into it's own, I think. This chapter allows us a little of Morrigan's psyche, I think. Also, Flemeth plays a bigger role in this story than she did in the play through of the game. A much bigger role to be revealed later, hopefully! Happy reading!_

_LCailan_

**~What Flemeth Knew~**

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"_There is always a catch. Life is a catch!"_

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Morrigan face away from her mother's hut, looking out at the silent and eternal landscape that was the Wilds. The sun had not yet risen, and behind the hut the two Wardens slept, as did the rest of the world. She slept little and was often times awake long before the sunrise, watching the horizon brighten with the promise of a new day. Years now, she had spent here with Flemeth. Days that had turned to months and months turned to years, and…she had forgotten in many ways what it was like to know people. What it was like to have a friend, to know someone cared for you. Certainly she knew Flemeth cared in her own strange way, though Morrigan knew her mother never cared without conditions, and so she never defined their relationship using the word 'love'. Necessity and convenience, but not real unadulterated love. In fact, Morrigan did not believe such emotion existed. Only fools entertained such a notion.

Morrigan had never truly known who Flemeth was. The young apostate called her 'mother' simply because it seemingly fit. She had known nothing but the Wilds, and her first and only memories were those of Flemeth. Morrigan knew herself to be practical over anything else, and in spite of knowing very little about the woman who had raised her, she knew for certain two things.

Flemeth was feared by the only other peoples who inhabited the Wilds, and therefore she was a safe haven. Secondly (and more importantly) the woman was a powerful witch. Morrigan had known no better way to develop her own burgeoning skills than to learn from someone infinitely more talented. She had gleaned all she could from Flemeth herself, and whilst the old woman was not paying attention, she would also snoop as much as she could to learn even more. Thought it would seem to most that passed by that the two women had great love for each other, Morrigan knew that Flemeth had reasons as to why she was raising a daughter, but she would not dare ask. For if not the Wilds, where was her home? She had nothing beyond the hut and Flemeth. The thought did not sadden her, but she was not stupid and knew it to be a fact. Beyond the Wilds, there was just the Chantry who would try to hunt her down and imprison her as if she was a wart on the face of society, and she knew she would rather die than to allow such.

The great horizon that lay before her began to lighten from navy to lighter blue, almost azure now as the sun began to rise above the onyx hued mountains, a small amber ball which exploded with splendid rays. She watched the sun rise, deep in thought.

Very rarely had Morrigan traveled past the edges of these Wilds. She avoided people, gravitating towards being alone most of her days. If it was a lonely life, such loneliness was a price she was well willing to pay. The sharp tongue and acid wit she had garnered from her mother. Flemeth was nothing if she was not quick thinking and brilliant, and life in the Kocari made one tough. Her dislike of people and especially the Ferelden Chantry had been learned from her experiences. Morrigan had been born in the Wilds, and so even as a child she had strongly objected being taken from a life where her magic was to be revered and glorified, to a tower where she would learn how to train it properly. She had found it confining, and she had found the men hunting mages abhorrent. She recalled cowering in the darkest corners of the hut at Flemeth's urges, while the older apostate devised ways to deflect the men's spells and vicious attempts to capture her and her daughter. All she had known then was trepidation at the thought of being taken away to someplace she did not want to go. But ultimately Flemeth had been smarter than they, and Morrigan had learned her mother's ways. She knew life outside of the Wilds would never be safe for her, no matter how she felt about it. So this was her home. Flemeth was her home.

The pull towards society was sometimes strong, but the young witch fought the urges to leave, though she had once or twice snuck into a town or a bigger city just to see what it was like. Her stays were very brief. Her countenance suspicious and her wits always on edge, she would skulk through alleyways and backstreets watching people around her with curiosity. She loved the clothing styles and sparkling baubles worn by the men and women. She loved the sparkling combs and fancy hairstyles she saw the women wearing. She thrived in the hustle in the cities which was a novel idea, for life as she knew it had never consisted of such rush. She found the men slovenly and disgusting and the women seemed in a state of confinement to the men. Religion was prevalent, and because Morrigan found it just another way to entrap people, she found this disgusting as well. She would always gladly retreat back to the safety, the freedom of her Wilds.

Here she felt at peace, she knew she belonged. If she longed for company she stayed with her mother. If she longed to roam, she would simply shift herself into whatever form she willed and then she would run free with the creatures inhabiting the beautiful countryside.

This little hut, with its thatched front door and leaking roof was home. Morrigan knew there was always a catch with Flemeth. Be it so, she was still there, for it was where she belonged.

The sounds of the world awakening now filled Morrigan's ears. She could hear the scurrying of small critters nearby, and the song of the birds now rising into the dewy air. Behind here there were deliberate footsteps, and she knew it was her mother. The two Wardens would sleep long, she supposed. Without turning she greeted her mother in a done dripping with distain.

"What I cannot deduce, Mother," she began, "Is why you saved them at all."

She heard her mother's paper dry chuckle.

"Always suspicious then, Morrigan?"

"Should I not be?"

"I taught you well, but you must find the right balance between understanding and suspicion." 

"You have never done anything that has not benefited you. I simply am having a difficult time learning of your purpose this time."

Morrigan turned to see her mother watching her calmly. The younger witch began to walk slowly back towards the hut, her feet wet from the dew.

"It is not the money, for if that had been your purpose, you would have rescued Ferelden's king."

Flemeth let out a sharp laugh making Morrigan even more certain that her mother had an agenda she had not, or would not talk about. Her glittering eyes narrowed.

"What is it truly, Mother? What is the catch this time?"

"I have been through Blight before," replied Flemeth. "I know what it does, and I know I want it stopped. They are Grey Wardens. It is they who would save this land."

Morrigan snorted.

"You speak with such loyalties," she sneered. "But your true intentions are not hidden, Mother. You are better than this," she continued. Flemeth only smiled in a way which infuriated Morrigan, and it was even worse, for the older witch knew this.

"You spent the whole of the previous week on edge, rushing to Ostagar whilst dragging me along without a word of explanation, and then save the Grey Wardens? When the leader of Ferelden was fighting so nearby? Those Wardens were nearly dead, and this is whom you put your faith in?" She asked her eyebrows raised. Flemeth chuckled.

"Cailan was a silly lad," she replied. "Quick to act and nary a thought in that head of his. He was flighty. Not a good leader."

Morrigan stared as her mother continued.

"I saved the future of Ferelden that night. I knew what I was doing child. The true leader lives."

Morrigan let out a laugh with just a hint of incredulousness.

"Surely, Mother, you jest."

There was no word from Flemeth, and this time Morrigan's smug expression faded. Without using the words, Flemeth had revealed her intentions.

"You mean the elf?" she pried. "For certainly that oaf Alistair…"

The words died on the cool morning air and there was nothing for a moment except the song of the birds. Morrigan stared at her mother. She knew better than to even have mentioned the elf, for in Ferelden, elven society was deemed beneath the humans. No elf would ever be king or queen. So that only left…

"Alistair?" she croaked, green-gold eyes wide. "That Alistair? 'Tis absurd!"

Flemeth laughed.

"And quite true."

"You know this how?" she sputtered out her question. Flemeth turned away from her daughter.

"That is not important," was her reply. "You forget who I am."

"No, I-"

Morrigan faded away. She could believe that Flemeth knew things no one else did, but this…this was beyond what she could have imagined! Alistair, brother to Cailan? Alistair, new king of Ferelden?

"He certainly does not act like a King," she mocked under her breath. Flemeth laughed softly.

"Some people do not want power, my daughter. It is thrust upon them."

"'Tis another reason why he is stupid. Who would not want power?" replied Morrigan staring at her mother still in shock. There was a long silence as the sun rose high in the blue skies.

"So…you saved him because you knew he was the next king?" she posed then. Flemeth cocked her head.

"And a Grey Warden, lest you forget. He is to save us. And he is to be King."

Morrigan shook her head slowly her eyes mocking her mother.

"'Tis hard to believe, Mother. He never spoke of it, this whole time. He acts like a child. I know nothing of politics and royalty but it seemed to me that Cailan was a man in every way that Alistair is not. What is the benefit of such an immature, stumbling man taking on more than he could possibly handle?"

Flemeth turned to walk back towards the hut, and Morrigan followed, waiting for a response.

"Either way, I have made my choice," Flemeth declared. "What happens now is up to him."

Morrigan snorted.

"Well then, expect very little."

The two women regarded one another in the silence that followed, one still in shock, one wearing a look of smugness about her. Morrigan couldn't help but to think that her mother was still hiding something. Perhaps not hiding, but certainly not elaborating her thoughts.

"You will go with them," said Flemeth then. The young apostate's mouth dropped open.

"I will do no such thing!" she uttered defiantly, her eyes flashing. "You cannot make me."

"You will go," repeated Flemeth watching her daughter for a moment. "Times are no longer tranquil. We must all do things that we do not want, Morrigan. You will go because they need you, even if they do not know it yet."

Morrigan watched Flemeth.

"Ah, so I am to make the assumption that you no longer need me, then?" she questioned, hating that she felt so saddened by the idea. "I have become expendable, have I?"

Flemeth chuckled.

"No child. I will always need you," she said, without saying anything. "But this time, someone needs you more," she finished and Morrigan wanted to laugh at the stupidity of that sentiment.

But she said nothing for long moments as she began to prepare the usual breakfast, making double the amount for their unwelcome guests. She did not question where Flemeth had gained all the information about Alistair, for she knew her mother would not tell her, and she also knew the plethora of lovers that Flemeth took on a regular basis. They were, after all, just men. Silly men who could be pleasured, sweet talked, and seduced into revealing information which was at any other time to be unspoken of. No, she did not care where Flemeth had gleaned her information. She was much more interested in why Flemeth done what she had done. The excuse of the blight seemed a very weak cover.

Morrigan glanced at her mother. It was unfortunate that the old hag would not reveal anything until she wanted to. She brought a pitcher of water to the old table.

"Does he know?" she inquired.

"Certainly he does. He has not yet come to terms with it however."

"To contemplate one needs a mind, and Alistair was tragically born without one."

Flemeth ignored her daughter's bad humored remark as she sat down at the table while water was heating.

"Some embrace power, others shun it. Do not mock others for what you do not understand."

Morrigan brought plates to the table, slamming them down unceremoniously.

"Well, I care not what he embraces, or what he comes to terms with. I resent having to play happy nursemaid to a failed templar soon to be failed king!" she snarled. Flemeth gave Morrigan a knowing smile.

Outside of the hut, the two Wardens were stirring.

"Then you too have much to come to terms with," she replied. 


	8. The Reluctant King

_Thanks everyone for the continued support! I appreciate it, as always. So…Flemeth knows about Alistair being King! Maybe she did, even in the game. Who knows? Let me know what you think! Enjoy._

_LCailan_

**~The Reluctant King~**

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"_I am not lost. Nor, for that matter, a king. And there is nothing glorious about me."_

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Alistair rolled over and groaned, pulling the burlap blanket up over his head. The sun was a milky yellow high in an azure sky, but he did not open his eyes to witness such a glorious morning.

Instead, he groaned once more, curling up into a ball. He could feel her. Well, he could feel one of them. His long time training in the Chantry had made him sensitive to certain things and one of them was the presence of rouge mages. Each time Morrigan or her mother was within his vicinity, he was able to _feel_ it. His heart would race, his sense would sharpen, and his body would tense with the preamble of a fight. He hated it.

_Andraste's flaming sword! I won't be able to handle this! I'll be a blasted ball of nerves if this keeps up!_

"You know," said Flemeth, "It is long past morning, and if you continue to feign sleep for much longer you will wear out this old lady's welcome."

The body under the blanket stiffened and then a head peeked out, hair disheveled and sticking up on one side and eyes muddled with unsettled sleep. The old woman stared at him and Alistair thanked the Maker that it was she.

_I can't handle Morrigan right now. I'm tired, aching and twitchy with desire to kill these apostates, and I can't handle her. She's creepy. She does that weird skulking around, listens in on everyone's conversations and just can't wait to get her hands mired in some sort of tension. I hate her._

"What is it that you are hiding from?" asked the witch. Alistair blinked and rubbed his eyes with his fists.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said his voice thick with sleep, although there was an unmistakable tinge of defensiveness.

"Don't you?" replied the woman. "You do not know me then," she continued her tone reminding Alistair of a gentle breeze. "I sense things others do not. Just as you do."

He blinked.

"What?"

"This desire you have to destroy me and my daughter," she replied pointedly. Alistair's jaw dropped.

"How did you…?"

He watched her now, his sleepiness gone, as she walked towards him holding a wooden bowl and spoon and handing it to him. The smile she offered hid more things than it revealed.

"I told you," she repeated. "I know things others do not. I know your mind is burdened."

Alistair took the bowl.

"You don't know the half of it," he grumbled as he took a bite of the runny porridge. The woman watched him silently for a few more moments but Alistair refused to look up.

_She's as creepy as her daughter! I bet she can read my thoughts now! Sodden mages! They're all creepy! I have to get out of here; we have to decide what we're doing and get away from this place!_

When he finally did look up, the woman was watching him with an expression that told Alistair maybe she DID know how to read minds! At any rate, he could not remember a conversation more uncomfortable since the one when Eamon had told him he would have to go to the Chantry. And he had been so young then!

"You know, you remind me much of your father," said the witch then. "Though it has been many years."

_Blast it! She CAN read my mind! And she knows my father? My real…no, of course she doesn't. No one does._

Alistair flushed bright red with shock and confusion.

"I am nothing like him," he muttered with shame. "He is a leader, a man who other cannot help liking. He is firm but fair, strong but gentle at the same time," he continued his tone one of pride. "He took care of me when no one else would."

The witch laughed causing Alistair to look up, confusion marring his handsome features.

"I speak not of Arl Eamon Guerrin, child," she scolded gently. The young man paled, his face turning an ashen color.

"I…don't know…"

"Maric Theirin was much like you are now," said the witch. "Stubborn. Quicker to speak than to think. Fiery and passionate about things he truly cared about. He too was brave and strong just like your Eamon. Bards have long sung songs about your father, though they do not mention that he had more than one son. But I know. Those whom I know speak of it."

Alistair stared.

_It's a nightmare! It must be, for no one knows my true parentage! Least of all some batty apostate mage in the middle of the Korcari Wilds! This is impossible! I need to wake up! WAKE UP ALISTAIR!_

But when he opened his eyes, he was still sitting on the ground, a bowl in his lap, and the lemon yellow sun beating down on him as the witch sat nearby.

"Who are you?" he asked in a whisper of fear. "And what do you know of Maric Theirin and what he was like?"

The woman smiled, her gold eyes glinting.

"You tell me what you know of you, and I will tell you what you _need _to know of me," she persuaded. Alistair knew that no matter what he said, she would know the truth, and he feared she already knew all of it and simply wanted to know if he would lie. Sighing he looked down into the bowl.

"My mother was…a scullery maid at the Royal Palace," he said in that same whisper, fearful that someone would overhear. "She…somehow got…involved with King Maric long after he married Rowan. I…I suppose that once she found out she was pregnant with me, she didn't know what to do and so she…ran off. After all, if she had told my father, he would have been shamed. Can you imagine a king on the throne with an illegitimate child?"

He snorted softly.

"Eamon was working for my father during that time, and somehow…mother knew to go to him, or he found out about her being pregnant. In any case, she died during childbirth and Eamon and his wife raised me," he finished, not willing to go on because the rest of the story was too painful. He knew little of his father, even less of his mother, and only the minimum of his brother, but he had not forgotten the pain and humiliation he had often been put through at the hands of Isolde Guerrin.

The woman nodded.

"See? Now was that so difficult?"

Alistair waited with expectation and she continued.

"The Chasind folk call me Flemeth," she told him then. Alistair's brown eyes widened.

"You're…Flemeth?" he breathed in shock. "The…the Flemeth? Of legends?" he whispered shaking his head. Everything seemed to spin. "You…there are STORIES of you! You are the witch of the wilds!" he exclaimed.

Flemeth waved this off.

"Everyone has a story boy," She pointed out. "Mine might just go back further."

Alistair stared at Flemeth.

"So you're Flemeth," he repeated in awe. Flemeth gave a nod.

"And you're Maric Theirin's son. I wonder however. Why it was that you were locked away like something to be shunned? Why he never acknowledged you as you deserved?" she baited. As expected, the boy lowered his head.

"I'm actually quite fine with the way things are," he explained hurriedly. "I'd rather…keep it between us, you know. I didn't…wasn't aware that anyone knew. Anyone still alive that is," he finished, his voice pained at the thought that Duncan was gone. He took another hesitant bite of the porridge when Flemeth spoke.

"Do you ever wonder if perhaps it was supposed to happen this way? Your brother fallen on the battlefield for Ferelden leaving you to take his place?"

The young man looked up with genuine panic in his eyes.

"No, oh no. Definitely not. There's been a mistake. I know they say the Maker knows what He's doing, but I swear, this was a mistake. A slip up. The Maker is on a vacation of some sort and when He gets back, I'm sure they'll straighten everything out. No way am I supposed to be the King."

Flemeth watched him with a sense of sadness and amusement mixed.

"Things are as they are boy. The first thing you must do is accept them."

The bowl of breakfast was long gone and Alistair straightened himself.

"I know how things are. I know who I am, and how I got to be here. I know that I have a duty now. I am not a little boy to be shoved off from one person to another anymore. And my duty goes far beyond aspirations to the throne, even if I wanted such."

Flemeth watched him and sensed a deep sadness, a man who had never seemingly found a place for himself. When the silence dragged out to long, Alistair turned his eyes on Flemeth, his expression uncertain.

"Even if I wanted to take the throne, that's not how it works," he reasoned. "I can't just waltz into the Royal Palace and declare myself king! They would exile me!" he finished with a wry laugh. "Although picturing it in my mind…it COULD be funny."

This time, the silence was not as tense and he wondered why this woman wasn't what he imagined she would have been. She was a witch of the wilds.

_She…she's Flemeth. Mother of all witches. Seducer and destroyer of men. She ate the hearts of her daughters, didn't she? Maker she must have been a bitch! Or all those tales were sodden lies. Just stories to scare children. Or..maybe I'm just confused._

At any rate, she seemed more…grandmotherly than anything else – and strangely familiar in some way.

"No matter what anyone thinks, I'm certain this is a Blight. I _feel_ it. I have dreams, I feel a sense of unrest. This is where I belong," he emphasized. "I have to save my country, this country from falling to the spawn. There is nothing, there is no one more important. I know what I must do."

Flemeth rose slowly watching him.

"Spoken like a brave man. You do not give yourself enough credit, boy. You are brave, and determined. Strong. You are a king. Do not forget it. Now," she finished, "we have much to do before you are on your way. It is you who said it – there is a Blight to fight."

She paused for a moment, watching him with intensity.

"Do not forget. I chose to risk myself by saving you and the other Warden. I made my choice. I chose you, because I know you are good for this country, for the throne."

Alistair watched her head back to the hut his eyes wide, he could hardly believe her words, nor understand the expression on her face.

_What now? She knows. Does Morrigan? Does Nalia? Who else knows? Maker, please let this be a nightmare. How much worse can this get?_

His eyes had closed and when he opened them he could see Morrigan watching him.

_A lot sodding worse, I suppose._

The young witch did not move from her place under the large wide tree that flanked the side of the hut. She had been watching her mother the whole time she spoke with Alistair, and now saw his uncertain, pained expression. Or maybe that wasn't pain – perhaps it was just his attempt at thought. After all, those who were brainless had a difficult time thinking. She didn't move however, preferring to watch him from a distance. After a few moments, she turned her nose up at him and moved back into the small yard in front of the hut.

Alistair stared after her, wondering with distaste what she was thinking.

_Blast it. What's it matter now anyway? Her creepy mother knows everything. Maker knows she probably told Morrigan of everything and that's why she's staring at me like that. She thinks I'm too stupid to be king. And I am!_

"Boy!" called out Flemeth from around the corner. "Do you think the darkspawn will wait for you?"

Alistair scrambled to his feet, rushing around the side of the hut trying at the same time to push away the unsettling conversation of his true parentage. He faced her.

"What did you mean when you said…it has been many years since you knew my father?"

His trepidation did nothing to win the witch's sympathy and she shook her head.

"All in good time boy. Some things are not meant to be explained, especially when all else rests on your shoulders."

Then she was gone, leaving Alistair more confused than anything else.


	9. When Memories Shatter the Stillness

_As in all stories, we must sometimes leave our heroes behind to explore the dreaded side stories. The next few chapters I have devoted to plot description and general story setup. We have to meet Leliana and Sten don't we? And they both need some development. And what of Loghain and Howe? And even Isolde, Eamon and Jowan have a story, don't they? Not that I'm going to do this all in order, but just a warning – it's coming! I hope the chapters aren't too boring, but they're necessary and I really like the idea of developing companions and not just pushing plot. I also really like the idea of exploring the background I have written about Leliana in this story – it might end up being a story of it's own eventually when I have time! So if you love Leliana stay tuned. Thank you as always for making this adventure one of your favorite reads, and as always for the reviews! Enjoy!_

_LCailan_

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**~When Memories Shatter the Stillness~**

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"_In the cloister, away from the fuss and the flurry of the cities, I found peace. And in the stillness, I could hear the Maker._"

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Leliana rested her elbows on the parapet of the northern most window of the Lothering Chantry. Behind her the sounds of prayer and supplication which were always soothing to her had begun to irritate her so much so that she had to get away.

_But where?_

Was there somewhere else to go? Did not those who were coming into Lothering saying they were seeking refuge? Perhaps this was all there was now.

_Where could I go? Anywhere I go, my past goes also. Can I hide forever then?_

The question begged an answer which she did not have. Sighing she turned and faced the crowded room.

Since the fall of Ostagar, she had seen hundreds upon hundreds of people along the road leading to Lothering. Many were lost and confused, even more injured gravely to the point of death. Still others sought a refuge, a place to lay their heads and get a bite to eat. The town supplies had dwindled, and there was almost no room now for one to lie down. People were side by side, aligned along the floors of the chantry. Some had blankets that they were sharing with their loved ones or sometimes even sharing them with a complete stranger. There wasn't enough food to go around, and those who were injured suffered through their pain silently or not, because there were no salves or kits or any kind of medicinal herb to be found, and those who left the village to seek it had not come back.

Leliana's days had gone from quiet contemplation and prayer to hours and hours of work, and sleepless nights of caring for the injured, and days upon days of hunger until a caravan came through delivering meager resources to Dane's Refuge. She had forgotten the quiet life she had led here because now all she could hear were the cries of the scared and injured, and the sobs of children, and the cries of the lost. She could hardly remember the peace she had found since coming to Lothering. Sighing, she began to walk through the hoard of people scattered about the huge room to seek out the Revered Mother. Somehow, the elder always made Leliana feel better. She had from the beginning, from the time she had set foot into the Chantry years before, seeking it's refuge from the mess that her life had become. But it was clear once Leliana found her that the elder was busy, and so she halted in her footsteps, and paused by yet another window.

She looked out on the front courtyard of the chantry, observing a fight between several farmers. Such fights had arisen more and more frequently as those who owned land would not share it, and those who didn't have it, fought for it or stole from it. She wanted to go out and intervene; it was her first instinct, but she also knew that her words would have no effect. Those living in Lothering had lived too long in despair and hunger, and they had forgotten what that other life was like, to live in harmony and peace with all the others.

Sighing she turned from the window and sank down onto the ground, head between her legs, taking a few moments rest before she returned to work. She was bandaging wounds that day, too many wounds, horrid, gaping, frightening…

She felt tears prickling the corners of her eyes, making them burn for a few seconds. This was all there was now? This pain and hopelessness? Hunger and sadness? It seemed impossible that she had run from another life into _this _one and yet…she had.

_Marjolaine._

The name entered her mind unbidden, and Leliana blinked, wondering where it had come from. She had not thought of her bard master in years it seemed. It she that was the reason Leliana had sought shelter in Lothering. In the Maker. And in a life so different from the one that she had lived before.

_No! I won't think of it! I love this life; this is what I was meant to do! The Maker called me; I just did not hear Him until I came here! I won't think of it!_

Sighing, she turned, moving along the long stacks of books on either side of the wall in this hallway, and moved away from the groups of people, as far away as she could, lest they see her tears of frustration. The last thing those poor people needed was to grow more fearful. She would not have that. She reached the far wall of the great room, and then leaned against it there, closing her eyes. No matter how glad she was to serve the Maker and His people, she could not deny that at certain moments she missed her home and life in Orlais, and she missed Marjolaine. Lothering had until recently represented order. Everything in the little village had it's place, including dinner and supper times. There was a time to pray, and a time to play. There was a time to buy and to sell. A time to milk and a time to put out to pasture. It was a quiet little place, and Leliana had learned to love it, for it had soon begun to represent the chaos she had left behind.

The young woman's heart skipped a beat when she thought about _what _she had left behind. Even at the thought, there was a twisting in her heart, which wasn't exactly painful, but nor was it pleasurable. It was as if the twisting conjured up images, and then flashes from that life.

Orlais! How she missed her old home! He heart whispered to her often at being torn from it's first love. And her dreams were of home, bright and beautiful. She always dreamed of colors when she dreamed of Orlais. In fact, Orlais was everything bright and beautiful. She was music and frivolity; she was seductive and provoking. She took her pleasures first and thought of consequences later. She was wealth, power and ambition. She was proud nobility and high fashion.

Leliana looked down at her plain gray leather boots, and recalled her shoes in Orlais, light and colorful, bedecked with bows and ribbon. She sighed. There was no a ribbon to be had here.

No, Ferelden was as different from Orlais as night was from day.

Her eyes closed once more as she remembered her younger days. Not that she was old, but only a few years away from home made it seem that much longer. Perhaps hard work caused one to age more quickly, she did not know.

In those days, she had been confused but willing to learn whatever it was someone chose to teach her. She had been orphaned at a young age and so had no real money to her name, though she had been blessed to be raised by one of Orlais' nobility, a Lady Cecile. Therefore, without money and without noble blood, Leliana had been raised within the upper class of Orlais. Those had been good days. She had dressed in the latest fashions and trends, and learned her place within such a society even though she had not been born into it. There had been satiny slippers, and lacy gowns which brushed just the tops of her feet. There had been large, wide hats which kept away the hot summer suns. There had been ribbons and bows for both shoes and her long red hair, which had always been done in curls. Her milky white fingers and hands had been adorned with radiantly colored jewels and sparkling golds and silvers. There had even been cosmetics, she remembered. She had worn such to adorn her bright green eyes and cupid's mouth.

Lady Cecile had told Leliana she was beautiful, and even as a young girl many a noble and even some of the chevaliers had called her beautiful beyond words.

The girl that sat curled up in the corner of the chantry looked down at herself. Her hands were no longer soft and white, but worn and weathered from time and work, and her hair had not seen a bow for years, let alone a hairdresser. It was shorter now, cut to be practical and so the curls were long gone. It was just hair now, though when she had been younger many had admired her hair. The color of the sunset, they had said, or the color of an old copper penny. Marjolaine had told Leliana her hair color was indescribable. It had always made her feel special. But now…

She knew she was not truly beautiful; they had told her so just to confuse her, to lure her in, to make her trust them. She did not know if she had ever been beautiful to anyone but Lady Cecile.

She associated her time of beauty with her time of being in Orlais, for everything there was beautiful. And so she recalled nights where she had been adorned in the best clothing, shoes and jewelry, and she had followed Lady Cecile around town, having learned from her the ways of being a lady. How to hold her head up, how to smile and speak, how to curtsy, and how to take compliments, and as she grew older, how to flirt with men in a way that did not make you appear a harlot. She had learned her table manners, and how to dance and even to sing. Over her time with Lady Cecile, she had become well known simply because she was the beautiful red haired girl whom Lady Cecile had adopted as her own. It provided Orlesians with amusement, she supposed in retrospect, as her surrogate mother had been tall, regal and blond, and she had been tiny and red haired. They must have made a fine pair! Though eccentricity was welcomed in Orlais, and so no one questioned it in the end.

When had her life changed so? Leliana could not even recall a moment, a day when she had known something was wrong. She could only attribute the huge change in her life to the trip to Orlais' capital the summer she had turned seventeen. Everything had changed then for that was the summer she had fallen in love for the first time. And after that, her life had changed completely.

_Silas._

She had not thought of him in years. And now, just as with her home country, her heart began to weep. It wept for loss, and for her own stupidity and blindness, and with regret.

"Sister?" said a tiny voice to her left, breaking Leliana from her lovely yet equally miserable reverie. There stood an uncertain little girl with golden curls that seemed to shine like the sun even within the chantry wall. Leliana quickly gathered herself wearily to a standing position, wiping her eyes.

"Yes?" she asked kindly, stooping down next to the lone child. She had blue eyes. Blue eyes like the summer skies in Orlais. Leliana sighed longingly for a moment before the little girl spoke..

"Can I have a drink of water please?" she asked and Leliana smiled. In that smile there was a hint, a faint reminder of the beauty that still existed within her.

"Certainly," she said and offered the child her hand. The two wandered to the front of the chantry were the Revered Mother kept some provisions, and most importantly barrels of water for those thirsty. Leliana was glad for the distraction, as the little girl happily told her of her brother and mother, and said her father was off fighting the bad men. It lightened Leliana's heart that there was still hope, even if it was in the mind and heart of a little child. She stood back, and then watched the child hurry to her mother, who had a broken arm and wore a weathered expression much like all the others in the room.

When would it end? When would they all be free to move on?

Leliana fell to her worn knees, praying.

_Maker, I deserve what I get because of the things I have done. But these innocent people? They do not! Save them from this! I implore you!_

Her eyes were turned up towards the endless heavens, and they filled with tears of regret for all the things she had done after leaving Lady Cecile. She knew her retribution would come sooner or later, and that Marjolaine was not dead and therefore Leliana would always be on the run, but these people, no. They did not deserve what was happening and she could only pray that they were spared from the worst. She was not stupid, and Leliana had heard talk from the refugees within Dane's Refuge that the darkspawn horde was traveling through the Wilds and would sooner or later reach Lothering, that none of them were safe. She had also heard from others that the Grey Wardens from Orlais had been summoned to battle, indicating a deeper issue. Darkspawn did not always mean a Blight. But if the Wardens were called in…?

She shuddered just as there was a commotion from the front of the Chantry. Leliana moved quickly in case there was some sort of emergency and opened the wide doors, looking out. The heat of the day was thick and heavy, adding an invisible burden to each breath. The sun beat down harshly and she squinted to see the commotion coming along the dusty path to the center of the village.

A small crowd was leading a man in chains and shackles along the main path through the village. She stood a frown on her pale face, watching the villagers shove him around with unnecessary violence.

"Murderer!" some screamed.

"Kill him!"

"He killed a child! Maker strike him down!"

Leliana was rooted in place as the men moved the prisoner down the lane. He was tall, thickly built with white hair and deep colored skin; skin the color of the fine chocolate that was sold in Orlais. He was not struggling or resisting so her reaction to him was one of pity. He was dirty and perspiring heavily and when their eyes met across the way, she felt a jolt. As if she knew him. There was a reddish tint to his eyes but before she could look further, he was yanked into moving once more, and Leliana sighed. Red eyes?

_What man would slay a child? For what reason? And what manner of man has red eyes?_

Saddened she watched the mob moving towards the outskirts of the village, where they kept cages for the dogs and other animals. They would put him there; that was where they kept all their prisoners. She sighed, the image of the man's face in the eye of her mind. She had seen in those few moments despair, confusion and anger. How ironic it seemed to be that they were as lost as the man they were imprisoning. Lothering was lost in confusion and fear, and it seemed to only be getting worse.

Leliana retreated back into the Chantry to resume her work, wondering when it had stopped being her refuge.


	10. The Village of Refugees

_And so our little group enters Lothering – and gets a taste of how powerful Morrigan can be. Thanks for reading! _

_LCailan_

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**~The Village of Refugees~**

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"_There are always people in Lothering, but many are just passing through._"

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Nalia stared down at her feet as she took another step forward and another…and another. The pack on her small back was starting to make everything hurt, and often times after several hours of walking, she would beg Morrigan to slow down so that she could breathe. The pain was excruciating but she said nothing for she could see that Alistair was in his own kind of pain as well. They had barely survived the Tower of Ishal, and now the brutal walk under the unforgiving sun while not yet completely recuperated was causing her to have second thoughts about having left Flemeth's hut so soon.

They had walked for days it seemed now. The sun was hot during the days, but the nights were a blessed relief of shadows and coolness. They had plenty of water and some food as well, and Morrigan was good at navigating. She had kept up the lead, moving slowly but steadily towards their destination, though Nalia knew not how long it would take. She simply walked, willing herself to move further, longer without the inevitable break she needed every so often. No one spoke except the necessary words, but Nalia took comfort in Morrigan's determination and Alistair's presence at her side.

At first the apostate had been irritated with the necessity to stop each hour for a rest, but something, either the expressions of her companions or perhaps something else had caused her to relent and offer some compassion. After that, she would stop without asking, turning to see if the two with her were all right. Within a day or so they had wordlessly established a pattern, when they would rest, when they would walk, and when they would eat. Soon after that, for whatever reason, the bickering between the templar and the apostate started up again. Nalia had enjoyed the several days of reprieve she had gotten, and their fighting soon began to irritate her once more.

There were two things certain to her on that trip north. One was the barren, arid landscape of the Korcari would never be as breathtaking to her as the Brecilian Forest. Secondly, that she would go mad if her two companions did not stop fighting. She wondered how long she would be able to tolerate it. When Morrigan began to taunt Alistair about the conversation from the night by the fire and his poor skills with women for at least the ninth time that day, Nalia finally stopped. Her heart was pounding weakly in her chest from the effort of walking half the day, and her tiny feet were covered with dust from walking barefoot for hours. She wiped her sweaty brow and turned on her companions.

"Halam sahlin!"

The words were harsh and painted with annoyance.

Alistair groaned.

"There you go not speaking English again," he muttered rolling his eyes. He shifted his heavy pack from one shoulder to the other and also wiped his brow, squinting up at the sun for a moment. Morrigan gave him a scathing look.

"There I go thinking maybe you had a brain in your head. Shame on me," she replied to him.

"STOP IT!" shouted Nalia. "Both of you, now. Aren't we doing this together? Remember? We need to be unified if we're to do this. I'm about to go off on my own and defeat the Blight without you!"

Her two companions stared at each other hatefully, but neither spoke, and finally Nalia turned around on the dusty path and continued forward. For a few blessed hours there was perfect silence interrupted only by their footfalls and the sound of birds swooping around above them in the deep blue sky. She grew uncomfortable in the heat and by the weight of her pack and moved slower now, falling behind the other two.

_How much longer?_

"Let me," said Alistair. He had also fallen back although Nalia had not seen him do so and was taking her supplies from her to add to his own.

"Oh, please don't. You have your own to carry," replied the elf wearily but Alistair had already shifted his things to make room for hers.

"I imagined as a hunter you would have done this often, but…with the heat and with what happened to you at Ostagar…well, it can't be easy, can it?" he replied with understanding. Nalia nodded mutely and Alistair turned so she wouldn't see him wincing. The image of that ogre never seemed far from his mind when he thought of Ostagar.

"Thank you," replied Nalia realizing what he said was true. She WOULD be able to make long treks and walking hours at a time, but this…this was different. She felt frustrated at being so weak.

"My, is this not lovely?" mocked Morrigan from ahead. "The fool is trying to make friends."

"At least I CAN!" replied Alistair in his own defense. "A pretentious hag like you will have trouble with that."

Morrigan laughed.

"I can be friendly, I choose not to be," she replied. "And your taunts do nothing but make me laugh."

Nalia wanted to cry.

"Please. Just stop," she muttered and they both fell silent once more. Alistair's offer to carry her things made it much easier to tolerate the next leg of their journey and just as she was needing another rest, Morrigan stopped.

"There!" she announced. "'Tis Lothering!"

Nalia walked more quickly now, towards the rows of buildings in the not so far distance. She felt some sort of comfort from knowing there were others out in the world, others besides the two she had been fated to travel with. At least after her outburst, none was too quick to speak. The continued trek towards Lothering was completed in silence. She could almost taste a fresh meal and some ice cold water and by the looks of Alistair she thought he was thinking the same thing. Just on the outskirts of town they met up with the first life since Flemeth.

"Ten silver to pass," said a gruff looking man. He was wearing a worn set of armor and smelled similarly to a dying animal. Nalia realized how little coin they really had – and there had been nothing to scavenge the last two days.

"I did not know that you shemlen charged coin for entry into a town," she replied standing up straight, her hand on her small blade, just in case, for the man looked dangerous. Her tone was stronger than she imagined she looked.

"These are tough times, eh?" he said to her, although he made no move to allow her to pass. "As I said, ten silver and you can all pass," he said. The men behind him also took possessive stances upon the road, and Nalia sighed.

"I don't have that kind of coin," she told them.

They glanced at one another.

"Well, you are an elf, aren't you? D'you trade the same money we do?" he questioned, though his tone was snide. "I reckon the bottom of the barrel don't have much money though eh?" he mocked.

Nalia bit her tongue – she wanted no more trouble than she already had, but it did not stop the others.

"And look who she travels with! A stupid looking warrior and…"

They stopped to consider Morrigan more closely.

"A staff! She carries a staff!" exclaimed one of them. The man who was clearly the leader stepped forward, giving Morrigan a keen look.

"You. There aren't many of your kind in the Wilds, are there?" he questioned. Morrigan looked at him innocently.

"One of my kind?" she repeated.

"Apostates. Illegal mages. Lothering has a jumble of templars just waiting for the likes of _you,_" he sneered. Morrigan only stared at him, and Nalia didn't like the look in her eyes.

"Perhaps if I _were_ an apostate those useless templars would have something to do, but alas, I am not."

The man was skeptical.

"No? You sure look like one," he commented.

"And how does an apostate look, pray tell?" replied Morrigan, her jaw set stubbornly. The man blinked, thinking for a moment and Morrigan's sharp tongue started up once more. "Do not strain yourself thinking on it overmuch."

Nalia wondered if any of the conversation was a good idea, for the man was starting to grow angry, and those with him looked formidable.

"In any case," he finally ordered, "none shall pass. Unless you have the money. Otherwise, you'll have to find another way into the village," he said and those with him laughed cruelly.

Nalia took hold of her dagger.

"Step aside," She ordered, with more confidence than she felt, and those around the man in charge laughed.

"We're so very afraid," said one of them as Nalia pulled her dagger. Before she could make a move forward, she felt a rush of air next to her and Morrigan gracefully shifted form, becoming a beautiful black and gold spider. The men were so terrified she was able to make short work of them, leaving Nalia to finish off the last one before she shifted back into her human form. Alistair stared, blade drawn, his mouth hanging open in a comical way.

"We will never get anywhere if you do not stop staring and start fighting," she said to him breathlessly, moving ahead.

"How did you-

"'Tis not the time to discuss such matters!" she called over her shoulder as she descended into the village, followed by the other two. "I would think with all your training you would have come across that kind of magic. I should have known otherwise."

Nalia was in awe. She had heard of stories, long, fantastic stories about the shape changers, for some ancient elves had the magical talents to do such feats. But she had never truly known someone who possessed such talents. She only knew it required great, complicated magic. Flemeth had told them that Morrigan was powerful and knew how to use magic well. Amidst Alistair's protestations that she was an apostate, that she might be a hindrance, she had insisted they would need her help. In the end, she had been right – Morrigan was more powerful an ally than anyone could have hoped. She watched her new companion as she moved into the village carrying herself with a quiet confidence, as if nothing had happened. Nalia was just as worried as she was awed. Morrigan seemed well aware of those around her and did not wish to be caught, but-

What if the highway men had been correct? She was an illegal mage. Would the templars-

"Alistair, what happens if someone realizes what she is?"

"You mean that she can turn into a spider in a blink of an eye?"

"No! You know, the…illegal-"

"Hush!" he ordered, shaking his head. "She doesn't seem to care, but I know how the Chantry is. If this town is run down with them, we cannot stay long," he said. Nalia gave him a strange look.

"Here I thought you'd be the first to want rid of her."

"Did you SEE what she can do? She is powerful, I know, I've…we were made to study magic. Runes, spells, amulets, how power is transferred…but never…I've never had to…actually deal with a mage. Yet. And besides, if she gets caught, we get caught and I don't think we can afford to waste that kind of time."

He fell silent. Nalia hesitated at the crest of the hill, looking down into the small valley where the town sat. Morrigan was almost at the edges of the bridge leading right into what looked like piles of tents along a stretch of plain outside of town. Her voice called out to them cutting off any other explanation that Alistair would have.

"Are you two going to join me or stand there until the darkspawn are upon us?" She questioned. Her almond shaped eyes landed on Alistair. "You stand there as if you expect an audience. Playing king, are you?" she mocked, and Nalia missed the look that passed between the mage and the templar. It was gone as quickly as it had happened.

"You are doing quite well, see the group that watches you?" she said of the small gathering now. "I was hoping to be inconspicuous but you apparently had other ideas."

Flushed red, Alistair rushed to Morrigan's side, hoping he had not drawn a crowd large enough to alert those who were currently in charge. Morrigan spoke quickly and in a low voice.

"We ought to split up, cover more ground more quickly," she said, her golden eyes shifting towards the templar in the distance with some unease. "Nalia and I will find food, and perhaps a place to rest our heads, although it seems more and more unlikely as the village seems overrun with people," she decided and then gave Alistair a dismissive look. "You…may wander around aimlessly as you always do," she finished simply.

Alistair glared, still red.

"I'll be glad to, just to get away from _you_," he sneered, and then stalked off. Morrigan sighed with satisfaction.

"Come along then," she said, motioning Nalia to follow.


	11. Unrest in Denerim

_Thanks as always to everyone reading! I appreciate the interest. I stopped updating until the fiasco with the website was fixed – which apparently it is now! Here's the next installment – which delves a little into the life and times of Loghain Mac Tir. Enjoy._

_LCailan_

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**~The Unrest~**

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"_The Bannorn will not bow to you simply because you demand it!_"

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The sun beat down mercilessly on the crowd gathered in the cobbled courtyard within the Royal Palace. Loghain Mac Tir stood above them on the east balcony, and he wiped his brow. There was a pounding in his temples like a large drum, which beat in time with each of his haggard heartbeats. Maker forsaken headache. He closed his eyes once more as those below him yelled out their frustrations and concerns. The crowd had been initially made up from just a few Banns and Arl Rendon Howe (thank the maker that it wasn't Eamon Guerrin at least) – but it had grown to some of the other nobility from Ferelden who had come to pay respect to their fallen king.

Beyond the courtyards and the tall metal gates, Denerim lay in silence, as if also to mourn her fallen leader. The sun was hot, and the day silent and heavy with heat. The silence was only broken apart by Loghain's passionate pleas and the dissent of the crowd with him.

He swiped at his brow once again as Teagan's voice ran out over the din of the other voices.

"My Lord, it is my understanding it is just our King who has fallen at Ostagar! Not his wife, who is still the ruling Queen! Is she not to make decisions about the future of our country? Is she not to pull us together against the coming Blight? That is what is important! Would you cause dissent between us simply because you want to be regent to your daughter? Is she unable to rule? Is she a minor? Is there anything which is causing her to give up the throne?"

Loghain knew the questions were valid, and they would soon need answered.

_I would see you die Teagan Guerrin for all your unnecessary questions!_

He did not, however, lose his cool. Instead, he turned and wiped his brow again, deeply troubled.

His daughter still held the throne as securely as she had before Cailan's death. Now that he was dead, she was the rightful ruler of Ferelden, but Loghain had long believed his daughter's beliefs and views on politics and running a country as large a Ferelden left much to be desired. At first he had not questioned much, but as time had passed, his mania had increased. With it came the paranoia. What if Orlais attacked? What if Ferelden was once again taken over by foreigners? Why was everyone so worried about a Blight when they had to fight for their indepence? No one but him seemed to care about such matters. And so he had taken it upon himself to insure that if Anora would not make the right choice, he would force her hand by whatever means necessary. And she was never as weak as she was now – deep in her mourning for a man who had been as stupid and flighty as his father had been shrewd and purposeful.

Loghain knew that to ensure his own regency to the throne, he would have to act now. He would need the support of not only the other remaining Teryn in the land (and Bryce Cousland would not be easily influenced), but the Arlings and the Bannorn as well. This would be a challenge, he knew. He risked much. A civil war, dissention and division within Ferelden, and a weakened country to face the Blight. But what choice did he have?

"Will you answer?" called out Teagan. "Will Anora retain her throne?"

"She will!" he called out towards the Bann of Rainsfere. He knew that Teagan was a threat. He was Eamon's younger brother, Cailan's uncle, and suspicious about what had happened at Ostagar. He could do nothing now besides try and reassure the man that all was in order. "But she mourns the death of your uncle! Her only husband!" he reminded in a terse tone.

"But does that make her incapable of ruling our country?" cried out another voice, closer to Loghain now. He squinted in the bright sunlight and wiped his sweaty brow. The speaker was Bann Alfstana, the most powerful noble from Waking Sea. And a woman no less. "She is strong! She has always been strong, and we can pull together to help her through this! What happened at Ostagar was a tragedy, was it not? We all suffer the loss of our leader. Yet you lock her away!" she cried out, putting her foot down. "Why should we listen to anything you have to say? How do we know your plans are not to usurp her power?"

Loghain grew angry.

"Why would I do such a thing?" he cried out. "She is my only child, she is the Queen! Your queen! I simply stand in as her regent while she deals with her personal loss! And I need your support! We must rally together during these hard times!"

He had great difficulty keeping himself calm and collected amidst the growing of turmoil and the heat of the waning day, and he was not used to lying. Even if it was necessary.

"I for one refuse to bow to you without explanation of what happened at Ostagar! I demand to know how our King fell and why you refuse to speak of it!" yelled Bann Teagan, which issued forth a chorus of agreement from most of the Bannorn gathered. The young Bann continued. "You cannot tell us that the Blight is less important than fighting amongst ourselves because we are divided over whether or not you rise to your daughter's throne! I say we dismiss your power and face what is coming. The darkspawn will be upon us soon and we must be united against them!"

His passion seemed to enflame others and the din rose so high Loghain could not speak over it, and he simply turned in anger and frustration, biting his fist to keep from losing himself to his fury. He blinked the sweat from his eyes as those below him in the courtyard yelled for him to turn and tell them the truth, but Loghain refused. The double doors of the balcony opened and within them stood Rendon Howe, an austere look on his regal features.

"My Lord," he said, stepping aside so that Loghain could enter the coolness of the rooms within the castle.

The doors shut out the afternoon heat and the yells from the Bannorn gathered, and a cool blanket of silence fell on Loghain. He stared down at the heavy carpet, and refused the cool drink of water offered him by one of the serving girls. He refused to look up at Rendon. Although Arl Rendon was a formidable ally, a brilliant battalion leader, and a wily man, Loghain was uncomfortable in his presence. Rendon possessed a bloodthirsty desire for power that made Loghain squeamish. His admiration of the man was matched only by the fear of what might happen if Rendon was not his ally but his enemy. So he kept the man on as his closest consort. It was impossible to believe that Arl Rendon Howe had friends, had a wife, and had children. He was a cold, nasty shell of a man within which resided a hardened heart, a will of steel, and no conscience that Loghain knew of.

"Eventually they will have no choice but to support you, my Lord," said Rendon. Loghain finally looked up. As always, there was not much on Rendon's face except a look devoid of emotion.

"Meanwhile, I risk civil war," he stated, his tone weak.

The man who had stood outside on the balcony was gone, replaced by one who was weakened and weary with worry and concern for his country and his only daughter. The only person in the room seemingly unaffected was Rendon Howe.

"Sometimes great risks must be taken to achieve a necessary goal," stated the Arl. "I support you fully, my Lord."

His black eyes lit up for a moment.

"And I bring news that might give you hope," he added, his tone turning now.

Loghain hated that tone for it was often followed by news which should have been good but was tainted by the means with which it had been achieved. He dropped his head in resignation, waiting to hear the news, which he did not relish to hear. The doors beyond them opened to the grand hallway and Loghain heard footsteps.

"Your highness," said Rendon in that slimy voice of his. Loghain knew from the greeting that his daughter had entered the room.

"Rendon," she greeted. Loghain still had not looked up, but he could gauge in his daughter's voice that she was still very much shaken by her husband's untimely demise. He felt guilt and pain over what he had done. Or what he had NOT done, specifically. He knew he had allowed Cailan to die even if he had not physically dealt the blow.

"May I a word in private with my father?" she asked.

"Of course," replied Howe, though he was clearly taken aback at the abrupt dismissal which he believed to be insulting. There were footsteps, and then the door shut.

Finally, Loghain looked up. The sight of his daughter had never failed to lift the teryn's spirits. Here stood the best part of him. A woman bright, beautiful, determined, intelligent, and far more skilled in politics and battle than most of her male counterparts. She was hardworking, shrewd, and she knew the meaning of power and the meaning of being common. She was a perfect queen, because she knew these two sides of life. She was honest and candid, and never took advantage of her female status to get what she wanted, opting instead to use logic and her brains. Even in his current distress, he managed a smile when he saw her, pained at the expression in her blue eyes and the frown upon her lips.

"You could have waited!" she exclaimed without preamble. "My husband is not even in his grave and already you talk of politics!" she continued heatedly, her blue eyes flashing now. "What a way to honor your king's memory! You should be ashamed."

Loghain sighed.

"It is for your own good. Politics and running a country do not wait for a Queen who needs to mourn the loss of her husband. I am simply allowing you this time for yourself, while I take care of less pressing matters," he assured, reaching out to touch her hand. The young queen pulled away.

"Do not touch me!" She exclaimed, doubt in her eyes. "Tell me the truth, Father. I have heard tale of such rumors around here lately! That you betrayed my husband! That you allowed him to die! And now you rile up the Bannorn and the other nobility so that they are fighting amongst themselves and not against the real threat. We have a Blight to face! How are we to do that if we are divided?" She asked in disbelief. "This is not like you!"

Loghain faced his daughter.

"Anora! Enough!" he bellowed. "We cannot have fighting between us. We must do this together, do not doubt me! I am your father, and I was Maric's best friend. Why would I betray his son?" he asked shaking his head. "How can you accuse me of such after what we have been through?"

Anora hung her head in shame and frustration, her cheeks flushed.

"I do not know," she whispered then, shaking her head. There was despair in those words. "I suppose it is because everything has fallen apart around me since Cailan's death. I feel a thousand things weighing on me from a thousand different directions and I no longer…"

She sighed. Admitting defeat was not an option, and this moment of weakness would too pass. Loghain put a heavy hand on her thin shoulder.

"Never doubt me. I am your father and I love you, my dear. I am here to help you until you are fully able to sit on the throne once more. That I promise," He vowed. A long silence followed his words before Anora was able to speak once more.

"Do not let them know that I am suffering like this," she warned looking her father in the eyes, and straightening her stooped shoulders. "I need some time…time to bury my husband and gather my bearings, but I am still queen, and no one can forget that," she said, the words a muted plea. Loghain nodded, relieved that the confrontation seemed to be at a pause for now.

"I have told them that you are fine, and you have not relinquished the throne, nor will you," he assured, squeezing her shoulders. "We will take the time we need to remember your husband properly and then we will face this civil war upon us together. Do not worry."

Anora looked troubled, but nodded without saying anything. For now, she seemed appeased. Loghain knew however, that she was too inquisitive to stay silent for long, and so it meant more than ever that he needed to secure the throne and stop this civil war before she began asking too many questions about her husband's death. He led her to the doors, and kissed her forehead.

"I love you, my daughter," he said again, seeing the troubled look still resting in her eyes. She nodded mutely and moved away from him. When she was gone, he hurried down the other end of the hallway and through the doors leading to the main floor of the castle, to find Rendon Howe waiting for him near the library.

"The news?" he stated, trying to forget the unsettling conversation between himself and his grieving daughter. Rendon studied his nails in a bored fashion, pausing for a pregnant moment before speaking.

"The good news or the bad news, my lord?" he questioned.

"What?" sputtered Loghain. "I do not have time for your games, Howe! Say it or do not say it!"

Rendon smiled, though it was more of a grimace than a smile.

"The Couslands are dead. Highever grieves the death of the teryn and his whole family."

Loghain stared at Howe trying to process the new information. Two things were clear to him immediately. One, the relief flowing through him for Bryce Cousland had not been an ally, and he had been the most powerful teryn in Ferelden, wielding power even greater than himself. And the other was that…

"I am sorry Rendon. I know that they were dear friends of yours."

"Friendship is expendable under the right circumstances," replied the arl.

The other was that Howe seemed fine with what had happened, as if his long, close friendship with Bryce Cousland had meant nothing. Indeed, nothing about his expression, the inflection of his words seemed to indicate that he had even known the Teyrn of Highever, let alone been his closest companion.

"I…." began Loghain, but he truly did not know what to say. It seemed unimportant, for Howe continued.

"You must remember in spite of this tragedy, that you are now the only remaining teryn in the land. It is one less voice to oppose you, my lord. Perhaps…you could consider this more opportune than tragic?"

Loghain stared at his advisor, swallowing a bitter lump. He did not know for sure, but somehow he knew then and from the look in Rendon's eyes that the arl had ordered his old friend dead. He did not dare voice such a suspicion, for a man who was capable of ordering a friend to be slain was a dangerous one indeed. He was more fearful of Howe's mental state than he was of having him as an ally.

"And the bad news?" he ground out, wondering what it was that could be worse than the slaying of a whole noble family.

"Maric's bastard son and the other Grey Warden live," spit Howe. "How they survived the bloodbath at Ostagar I will never know," he muttered.

Loghain's face fell as he recalled the last moments of King Cailan's life, when the young ruler had been worried after his brother, having sent him away from the fighting to the Tower of Ishal in order to keep him from the worst of the slaughter. Deep in thought, he hardly heard Howe speaking once more.

"My men say they are traveling through the Korcari towards Lothering," he revealed. "They are being led by one of those chasind people…quite beautiful, I'm told," he continued wryly. "Once there, we will know because I have made sure that there is a handsome bounty on their heads. They will be arrested on sight by our men," he finished, his tone business like. Loghain looked at him sharply.

"I do not care what happens to the elven woman, but I want Alistair alive. I want him brought here," he said firmly. Howe nodded.

"As you wish. I will make it known to my men then."

"Very good," replied Loghain, for it was all he _could _say.

He was too startled at the fact that Alistair was still alive, in fact both those sodden Grey Wardens. The elf may not have been a threat to his power, but she was a formidable female warrior who was clearly not an ally. Howe stood by for a few moments before moving into the library and leaving Loghain alone in the long hallway. The teryn dropped his head, wondering what he would do next. Civil war? A daughter whom suspected him more and more with each passing day? A young man who was a direct heir to the throne had survived the battle of Ostagar? And what about the growing anger of the Bannorn outside in the courtyard? All these things spun in his head viciously, making Loghain dizzy with worry.

This time when the water was offered him, he took it, wishing it was something stronger.


	12. As The Maker Wills It

**~As the Maker Wills It~**

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_"The righteous stand before the __darkness and the Maker shall guide their hand."_

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Leliana slowly trudged back towards Dane's Refuge holding a small tray of untouched food. She loathed letting it go to waste with so many people hungry and needing nourishment. For nineteen days she had wandered across the village with food and water for the white haired prisoner that was caged on the forest end outskirts. And for nineteen days he had refused the nourishment, leaving it where she had placed it with not one bite touched. So each day she would take the tray and return it to where she had gotten it. The prisoner would not eat, but she was too stubborn to give up. Would he just allow himself to die? That many days in a cage without food and water would have killed any other man!

_He is not a man. He is __something...else._

What, however, she did not know.

Once the food was delivered back, Leliana headed towards the chantry in the late afternoon. The sky threatened a much needed rain for the crops that had remained were drying out, as were many of the wells where the village was getting their drinking and wash water. It was her turn that day to do the wash in fact. She would take all the dirtied linens and the bandages they used on the sick and wounded, and she would wash and dry them quickly so that they could be used again. Luckily there was plenty in supply and there were fewer ill than before, which made her feel a bit more hopeful. She carried the huge basin to the chantry courtyard and filled it with tepid water, and added the linens, working slowly. She was tired – for weeks now it seemed her dreams were haunted by something dark, something looming over her. She saw the darkspawn. She heard their groaning, their sneering. She heard fighting, and the cries of the Grey Wardens.

_You must go._

She had heard this as well. A voice in her mind. Or was it in her mind? She didn't know anymore, it seemed like the dreams mixed her waking hours much too seamlessly and…

Leliana's fingers slipped against the washboard and she cried out as she cut herself.

"Fire and damnation!" she cursed under her breath a bit tearfully as she yanked her hand out of the lye laced water. Wonderful. She would have to rewash everything now.

_You must go._

A warning? Something else?

"Can you spare a moment Sister?" inquired a male voice from behind her just as she turned to find something to wrap her hand in. Their eyes met for a moment and Leliana offered a smile.

Alistair stopped dead in his tracks staring at the Chantry sister his words forgotten.

_Andraste have mercy. Why did my Chantry not have sisters that looked like this?_

As a Grey Warden he knew he needed news, food and some lodging, but as a man…well, he could do little more than stare for a few seconds.

_Like an idiot, of course._

"I apologize," he said quickly, turning a bright pink color and looking anywhere but at the lovely woman. "I was just-"

He looked around frantically, scratching the back of his head in confusion. Talking. Talking was good – he needed to keep talking to keep it from getting to strange.

"I only just arrived, and I was looking for…well maybe for some food and water…and a place to rest," he finished hopefully.

The young woman had clear blue green eyes, the color of the Amaranthine or so he remembered from his time there as a child. She had red gold hair that curled around her chin and pale flawless skin.

_Why did I leave the Chantry again? Can't quite remember now. Hmm…_

Alistair found the Maker had quite the sense of humor.

_Where were all these beautiful girls before? Did it really take a Blight for me to meet not one but two of them?_

There was only one problem. Well, two, he supposed. Nalia was avoiding him like the leprosy and this one…well this one was in the Chantry. She was as good as married to the Maker.

Leliana watched him mumble about, his face taking on a pink color from bashfulness. This wasn't a straggler from the King's army then, nor was he one of the soldiers from Denerim who served Teryn Loghain. She saw no emblem or engravings on his dirty yet not downtrodden splintmail armor, and from her angle she could not see if there was anything familiar about the shield he had slung on his back.

"Do not apologize," she replied in a sunny way. "You may as well ask me anything you like for the people who are in charge have been busy for weeks. Since the stragglers from Ostagar began to arrive and then the hundreds of refugees from the darkspawn…"

She sighed. "It has not been easy here."

"Nor anywhere," came his serious reply.

There was a moment of silence. Leliana had a nagging feeling that she had seen this man before, and that she need only remember _where_ for it all to fall into place. At first she had believed it to be so because he gazed at her the way the other men had back in her old life in Orlais. During the time with Marjolaine and Silas, the nights full of drink, dancing and song and seduction. How dizzying those nights were! How the men had wanted her, and how easy it had been for her to make them do every little thing she wanted them to without hardly a word sometimes. But no. That was then, and this…this was her new life. This man, whoever he was, only saw her as a sister of the Chantry and couldn't possibly have been looking at her with lechery. It was something else about him that was familiar. She cleared her throat, looking down for a moment into her soiled wash as she looked for a place to put it down.

"You asked about food and shelter and unfortunately there is little here of either," she admitted, walking towards the stone steps near the Chantry. "Since all the refugees and Loghain's army arrived there has been no room here for many more. The chantry is full, and the only tavern here is bursting with people that have nowhere to go."

She paused setting the wash on the steps to the chantry.

"A caravan comes in each week to deliver food for those who can afford it. The chantry tries to ration out what we can to those who have no coin," She explained slowly sinking down on the steps. The man remained standing. She could see he was worse for the wear, sweaty and pale, and his face was covered with a thin layer of dust most likely from the walking he had done. She watched him.

"I could give you some water to take with you," she offered kindly. "Though right now that is all I have. Food will be here in a day or so, although perhaps there is some left at the tavern," She continued, pointing the way across the small bridge alongside the chantry. "That way."

Alistair nodded.

"Thank you," he replied and shifted the things he was carrying. He was sweating in places he didn't know had existed. He was hot, tired, starved and downtrodden and even here amongst people there seemed no relief. Even the sister was quiet now, and she had given him some hope. But now-

"I'll just go inside then," he faltered for a moment, and then sighed and took the steps one at a time. Before he could reach the gilded doors he heard the gasp.

"You're a Grey Warden!"

He turned, watching the sister for a moment. Her blue green eyes were wide with surprise and concern.

"Not that it matters any but yes," he replied, rather miserably.

"You cannot be here!" she said then, rising fluidly to her feet, her chantry robes flowing around her ankles. "They…there is a bounty on your head. If you are found, surely they will…well, I do not know what they will do, but…oh come with me," she urged, pulling him along now, so that he was out of sight. "And for the Maker's sake, put that shield away!" she exclaimed yanking on his shield roughly so that he had no choice but to pull it off and hand it to the woman by his side.

"What in tarnation are you talking about?" he asked confused as she led him inside through the huge doors.

"A bounty," She said in a whisper, leading him into the much cooler chantry but still keeping him out of the line of sight. "You are to be captured on sight. It has been issued from the royal palace in Denerim. No doubt by the Teryn Loghain. He serves as the Queen's regent now that the king is dead."

Alistair felt a thousand emotions flowing through him so that he had to avert his eyes down and away from the woman at his side who was watching him too keenly…too…knowingly. She put a small hand on his wrist.

"I have heard talk that all the Grey Wardens perished in the battle at Ostagar, and those who did not had…betrayed our king. Left him to die on the battlefield."

At this, Alistair felt a righteous rage and he stared up at the sister.

"That is a lie!" he shot back. "I would never have done that to our king! I never would have backed off; I would have fought until I perished on that battlefield. It would have been better had I…"

He shook his head.

"Do not believe such lies, sister. We did not betray the king. It was Loghain! He called retreat just as Cailan needed help. He betrayed Cailan. He betrayed his best friend's son!"

Leliana lead him to a far corner of the Chantry, lest someone overhear his rising voice.

"Leliana," she replied. The man paused.

"What?"

"My name. Leliana. You do not have to call me Sister," she explained kindly. Alistair blinked. Of course. It was the only name to befit such a lovely woman. She worked quickly, moving about and returning with a glass of cold, clear water which Alistair gulped down without breathing.

"Thank you," he managed wondering if there had ever been anything as saving as that glass of water. Though still parched, at least he now felt…more alive. Leliana had dipped a linen cloth in some water and offered it to him. Alistair wiped his face, removing the grime and dust that had built up over his travels and for the first time he realized his own dirtiness and the smell coming from him.

_Maker have mercy on me. This is humiliating._

The sister – Leliana – did not seem to mind however, joining him on the floor after having taken the empty glass from him.

"Now," she soothed, her eyes gleaming for a moment. "Take a moment, brother, and tell me how it is you ended up in Lothering. And why. And of course," she finished with a grin that lit up her whole face, "do tell me your name."

_You must go._

Somehow…in some way she knew that this man, this Grey Warden, whoever he was…would be able to answer her questions and relieve her of the burden of her dreams. The Maker had sent him as surely as the sun shone in the sky. And she was willing to do whatever it was that the Maker was calling her for.


	13. The Skirmish in the Refuge

_Wow – so it's been a little while since I updated (ouch). I want to first thank everyone who has given me such positive reviews and made this their favorite. To all the anon reviews that I can't respond to – thank you! I'd personally reply but I can't. It's been busy here and I've been distracted by a new idea which won't let me go and is slowing my progress with the Origins story. I hope to pick this up on a more regular basis, but I can't promise for sure. _

_Secondly I want to thank all those who read my one-shot Wedding Night – I was stunned at the response and I have no words for your kindness! I'm glad you all liked it. And finally thanks to the Cheeky Monkeys for keeping me on my toes with all those challenges. Anyway, back to the story, yes?_

_Thanks again and here's the next installment – __Leliana joins the group! _

_LCailan_

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**~The Skirmish in the Refuge~**

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"_There are always people in Lothering, but many are just passing through._"

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Nalia and Morrigan sat at a small wooden table in the corner of the only tavern in town, the tiny elf realized that it was the first time she had ever been around so many shem at one time. Unfortunately for her, it wasn't a comfortable feeling.

She had assumed upon walking inside that under normal circumstances the establishment would have been nice – the room was spacious, there was a fireplace and several kitchens and rooms for rent, and the shopkeeper was a smiling older man with kind eyes and a warm smile. But obviously something was happening in Lothering. Neither she nor Morrigan had been able to glean much information mostly because the people here were frightened and confused about what was going on, and there was a heavy, uncomfortable mood set by the soldiers who had taken up the main section of the room, talking amongst each other and giving all the other patrons around them suspicious gazes.

Blankets littered the floor, and people whispered amongst each other, giving them glares once in a while, or curious looks. Luckily thus far neither had been recognized nor approached. Nalia stole glances at the soldiers drinking near the bar table and as she sat deep in though, Morrigan got up, winding her way gracefully through the throng of people standing and sitting on the dust littered floor. Several patrons watched as she moved, though Nalia didn't blame them, especially the males. She didn't know many shemlen, but Morrigan in spite of her rapier tongue and often bad mood was a beautiful woman.

She watched silently as Morrigan returned balancing two wooden bowls full of something brown and liquidy and placed them on the table.

"Stew," she said when she saw Nalia's expression. "You need to eat something," she reminded her. "'Twas a long trip and it took much out of you."

The bowls were steaming and in spite of the heat, Nalia managed a few swallows as Morrigan watched her with those strange golden brown eyes. After a moment, she spoke though her voice was low.

"Those are your Loghain's men. They wear the symbol of Denerim upon their shields."

"Why do they look around so?" asked Nalia confused. "Why are they even here?"

"I do not know," replied Morrigan. "But it causes me worry."

Nalia was too restless to eat, and each look from the other inhabitants of the small tavern and the hardened looks of the soldiers made her more nervous, and the witch seemed to sense this.

"You must be calm," she stated. "We shouldn't draw more attention to ourselves than we already will having that oaf Alistair along with us."

Taking another spoonful of soup, Nalia sighed.

"You really should try to get along," she murmured staring into her stew. "We might be doing this for a long while."

Morrigan's face turned down into a rather unattractive frown.

"Tis what disturbs me most," she muttered under her breath. Nalia took another bite of the steaming stew; it was runny with chunks of meat and too soft vegetables floating in it, but still it was nourishment and she needed that for sure.

The door to the tavern opened once more and this time Morrigan let out a small snort.

"He returns," she said matter of factly and Nalia looked up. Alistair, looking worse for the wear – though his eyes gleamed as if with some inner hope, began to glance around the establishment curiously. Behind him stood a woman; a lovely one with perfect skin and hair the color of burnt orange which flattered her green eyes.

"And he has taken a girlfriend. Quote fortuitous," she drawled sarcastically. "Perhaps it will mean he leaves us alone."

Nalia on the other hand stiffened.

"Why would he associate with anyone? We don't know the people here, and all shemlen are not to be trusted!"

Morrigan looked a mixture of confused and annoyed.

"You do realize, elf, that you are surrounded by shemlen?" she questioned. "Do you mistrust everyone?"

"It isn't like you're trusting of anyone!" she shot back, and then looked towards Alistair and the unnamed woman once more. "I just don't think it's a good idea to fraternize with anyone if we don't know them is all."

"I do not disagree," replied the witch. "Of course, when you are dealing with one as dim witted as Alistair, what you think and what he is thinking, if he thinks at all, is probably vastly different."

Ignoring yet another underhanded blow against Alistair, Nalia turned to look at the duo, but they still hand not noticed them in the throng.

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The tavern was poorly lit and hotter than the stifling air that hung over Lothering. Here, Alistair could hardly take a full breath and he squinted to see through the hazy space, but in the mass of humanity he could not make out a soul and he wondered where Nalia and Morrigan had gotten to. He clung to Leliana for she had a calming presence. His head spun with the tale she had told him – the strange dreams she had been having and how she had insisted that he take her along with him wherever he was going.

"Where is this group you travel with?" She called over her shoulder, stopping in the center of the room and looking at him with a look that was deeper than it seemed at first. Alistair shook his head.

"If they are here I don't seem them," he replied looking around once more. She nodded towards the bar.

"If you want food," she stated, "There's always something here – even if it's not that good," she finished and Alistair gave her a strange look, raising one eyebrow.

"Trust me, when a boy has to eat, a boy has to eat," he quipped. "I feel like anything would be heavenly at this point."

Leliana was graceful even amidst the huge crowds, and it was just as she was meandering over to the wooden bar tables when she spotted them and stopped short, heart hammering. Alistair nearly ran into her for he had not been paying attention – searching for any sign of Nalia and Morrigan. The lay sister leaned towards him for a flash.

"There," she whispered to Alistair. "The men I told you about, the army," she explained. Alistair stared. It was true then, what she had said. Loghain's men were in Lothering, and apparently they too were there for a reason for they gazed around the room sharply. Suddenly Alistair wanted to be far away from that place. He turned to the lay sister.

"Forget the food," he whispered. "I should go – we should – I should-"

Someone grabbed him from behind and he nearly jumped and stumbled backwards.

"Alistair," hissed Nalia, yanking him away from the guards, and towards the table where Morrigan now stood waiting for them. Nalia had been so glad to see him again that she didn't immediately notice the pallor of his face or the startled look in his eyes. He sat heavily – and with a grunt, reaching out to pull her down with him just as Morrigan lowered herself into her chair again.

The unnamed woman stood by, her eyes darting from the small group to the soldiers on the other side of the room.

"Where have you been? And who is that woman?" demanded Nalia but Alistair waved off her questions.

"Loghain's men are here," he changed the subject. Morrigan raised an eyebrow and snorted.

"My, your powers of deduction are spot on," she quipped.

Alistair, too alarmed to be agitated by Morrigan's insult, shook his head.

"You don't understand!" he said his tone low but urgent. "They are here to capture Grey Wardens," he hissed. "There are posters everywhere – wanted posters for us! They say WE betrayed the king!"

"But we didn't!" sputtered Nalia her eyes widening. "It was that Loghain!"

"It doesn't matter. There is a bounty on our heads and we must get out of town as soon as possible. If we can purchase supplies and then move out, it would be for the best," he said. "We must keep a low profile."

Morrigan turned, looking at his shield, which was fully exposed to the rest of the room. It bore the Warden emblem on it.

"Perhaps then you should remove your shield," she muttered. Alistair jumped up in alarm.

"Andraste's knickers," he hissed under his breath, but it was too late, as the guards had noticed him.

"Wait! You there, you Grey Warden!" called one of them. Alistair laughed nervously as he stood, giving the men what he hoped was a charming smile.

"Who me? I'm no Grey Warden, ser," he said. "I'm just…I'm just-I found this…upon the road…thought it would be useful," he said in a high pitched voice.

Morrigan rolled her eyes.

"He doesn't even know how to _lie _well," she muttered to herself, standing now and in spite of her disgust for Alistair she did not let down her guard.

Nalia stood next to Alistair. The taller of the men reached out and yanked Alistair forward, causing him to stumble and nearly lose his footing.

"Let him go!"

"Why? So he has another chance to betray Ferelden's leader?"

"He didn't! Grey Wardens didn't betray the king! You have it all wrong! It was Loghain!" she exclaimed, though she wondered if it would do any good.

The younger men laughed and shoved each other around, mocking both Nalia and Alistair.

"Now that is one tall tale," said one, and they yanked Alistair backwards, towards the door. "Get her," he said to one of the other soldiers.

He advanced with a leer and Nalia fumbled for her dagger knowing she would not go down without a fight. Others around her had noticed the growing altercation, and the innocent refugees huddled in the corners of the room looking on with concern and some fright.

As Alistair struggled to get free of the tight lock his hands were in, he suddenly thought of Leliana – and wondered now what she would think for the woman had certainly seemed quite the gentle spirit. With a groan he threw off the soldier and whirled around grabbing his sword in one of his decidedly sweaty hands when he saw the whirl of a petite red head dash forward intercepting the first blow and allowing Alistair the possible advance on their foe.

Leliana realized with a start that it had been ages – more than ages – since she had fought like this, since she had taken the blade into her hand and faced true danger. That's why she had run, wasn't it? That's why she had left Orlais – to get away from the evil, from the danger.

But it was all to familiar, this feeling of the knife in her hand, of the fluid way with which she moved as if she had never forgotten. They said some things you never forgot – and there was something to be said for that. Each movement was as if she had already seen it in her mind's eye.

Heart racing and breathing coming in spurts she dodged every attack, taking the advantage over her heavier and lumbering opponents and Maker help her – she was _smiling_ as she pinned the leader of the group to the ground and pressed the edge of the dagger to his incredibly vulnerable neck.

Nalia stopped scrapping to stare for a silence had fallen over the room. Blood roared in her veins and the injustice – and she found herself surprised that she'd care so much about what a bunch of shemlen thought about her. But these men were buying into lies – horrible lies told to slander the Warden name and _she_ was a Warden and she refused to let anyone think badly of her.

_What I am doing here? What did do to deserve being forced from my clan- from my home?_

In her mind's eye she saw Tamlen – his shining eyes and the cocky grin on his face as he said something to her. Something that was no long forgotten and his memory faded as quickly as it had come.

_For Tamlen then. I'm doing this for Tamlen._

The small red haired woman still had the soldier pinned to the dusty ground with her blade and there was a look of triumph on her lovely face.

"Wait! Wait! I surrender, I swear!"

He was gurgling the words, afraid to speak outright lest the blade slice him. Nalia joined the unnamed woman staring down at the fallen soldier with contempt shining in her eyes.

"Halam sahlin," she spit. "Kill him now."

There was a pause – the whole tavern seemed to be waiting with baited breath. The only sound was the ragged breathing of those who had been involved in the fight and then the woman relaxed her stance, pulling the blade away from the soldier's neck.

"Let us spare him," she said and Nalia found her voice to be purely musical – much like the voices of the hahren.

"Says the woman with the knife," quipped Alistair from behind them as he moved to stand next to Nalia with a quizzical look in his eyes. The small elf wore an expression of disdain as her icy blue eyes met those of the woman's. Up close they were even greener than she had at first thought.

"Why? You heard him didn't you? What he's been saying? It's Loghain who betrayed the king, not the Grey Wardens! Why shouldn't we kill him? He hasn't given us any reason not to!"

The woman spoke in a quiet voice, which seemed strange under the circumstances.

"Why must we take more innocent lives than we have to?"

"Ahem – once again says the woman with the knife who almost killed that guard," muttered Alistair. Morrigan rolled her eyes.

"We understand, Alistair. It is difficult to accept when a priestess fights better than you do," she quipped her tone like acid. The former templar flushed bright crimson and looked decidedly grumpy.

Nalia was glaring at the red haired woman wondering if Morrigan was right. She certainly looked like some sort of priestess anyway. But she was too incensed to think clearly at that moment.

"Innocent?" Nalia exclaimed. "You must be insane to think that these men wouldn't run the first chance they got to whoever put them up to this!" she spit and swiftly kicked the man on the ground causing him to let out a yelp of pain.

"I beg of you, please let me go and me and my men will be gone from here, I swear!" said the soldier, real fear in his eyes.

"Why? So you can go run to Loghain?" snapped the angry elf. 

"I would never, I swear!"

Nalia finally lowered her blade, stepping back, but her sour expression did not fade and neither did the threatening stance. She watched the red haired priestess do the same though her face was a picture of calm now that the fighting was over.

Then she glanced back down at the cowering soldier.

"You had better not," she hissed. "Now go, leave this town and the people in peace or next time I _will_ kill you," she promised, her tone like ice. "I don't care _what_ the priestess says."

There was shuffling the hurried sound of footsteps, and then the room was empty save the refugees. Nalia turned to look at the strange red haired woman who then offered up a smile that lit up her blue eyes.

"Thank you for not killing him," she said. "The Maker thanks you as well."

A beautiful, musical voice.

"What your maker thinks is of no consequence to me," replied a still angry Nalia.

The woman hesitated, folding her hands across the long robes she wore. Morrigan's gold eyes raked over the long robe for a moment.

"So priestess, will you announce yourself? Who are you and why did you help us?" she questioned mildly. "Are you from the chantry?"

Alistair gave Morrigan a quick look of surprise to which the apostate snickered.

"Dear Alistair unlike you, I am quite observant," she replied. "Do not try to think any more today, I would not like to strain you overmuch."

Alistair glared at her and then looked at Nalia.

"This is Leliana, she is a lay sister here in Lothering's chantry. I met her while I was trying to find information and we had come looking for you when the fighting broke out," he explained.

"Need I remind you, Alistair," Morrigan spit, "that it was your idiocy that caused that fight?"

This elicited another glare from Alistair but Morrigan looked quite pleased with herself. Leliana seemingly unaffected by the bickering between the two companions offered her hand to Nalia.

"It is truly a pleasure," she said with another brilliant smile. "Lothering is nothing like it was before the fall of Ostagar, I am afraid," she mourned.

Nalia swallowed but said nothing, her anger lessening now. She tucked the dagger she had still been holding back into it's sheath and sighed.

"Nothing is like the way it was before the Blight," she muttered under her breath, taking a seat once more at the table with her now cold stew. She gave Leliana the priestess a glance. "Thank you though for helping us."

It was that which sparked something in Leliana's eyes.

"You will need all the help you can get, won't you?" she asked then moving fluidly so that she could join the tiny elf at the table. "I can help you. I spoke with Alistair about what you are doing and I can come along."

Nalia looked at Leliana wearily.

"I don't want to argue with you, but I really don't think another member of this motley group is going to help matters any," she said flatly.

"No?" replied Leliana. "I disagree. I know this is going to sound like madness, but I…I've been having these visions, you see. Visions telling me that you were going to come and that I'm to go with you!"

Nalia's face took on a peculiar look thinking that this woman was either crazy…or that she truly believed what she was saying.

Nalia stared.

"A vision?"

Alistair who had been quiet that whole time finally spoke up and it was in Leliana's defense.

"I know it sounds crazy. But if you think about it-"

"I find it curious that you know how to think at all," interrupted Morrigan gleefully finding yet another moment to stick it to Alistair. Luckily the man was staring to be able to ignore it better.

Leliana's green eyes flickered with uncertainty between the two, before she focused once again on Nalia.

"It is true, I want to help," she said. "Look at the people here. They are lost in their despair, and this darkness will spread. The Maker does not want this. What you do, what you are meant to do is the Maker's work. Let me help."

Her voice had taken on a gentle plea. There was something honest, something pure about the woman standing before her, and Nalia hesitated for a split second longer than she should have, and Leliana was speaking once more.

"You saw that I can be a help to you!" she pointed out. "The truth is where I am from I lived a very different life than the one that I live now."

Nalia did not ask, for she knew that often times what seemed to be a choice, was not. And she knew also that her life with the Dalish had been so much different than now…

"There is strength in numbers," she murmured turning around to face Alistair and Morrigan. "Leliana comes with us," she announced, eliciting a strange look from Alistair and a sneer from Morrigan.

"Perhaps you took a heavier blow to the head than Mother thought," she stated, moving towards the door leading outside. "Sister," she asked snidely, "make yourself useful. Do you know of a place we can rest our heads? Get a proper bath?"

Nalia frowned.

"The Blight is upon us, and you are thinking about a bath?"

"Perhaps it is different for the elves," replied Morrigan. "I may be fighting the darkspawn, but underneath it all a girl does care for her appearance," she stated firmly.

Leliana paused.

"There is no place in town," she replied thoughtfully. "But I know of a place. Come!" she said, leading the group.


	14. Fledgling Friendships

_I did better this week! My next installment – in just under a week. Thanks for the reviews guys! Thanks for reading! Oh, and thanks for all the positive responses to this week's challenge, Baby Wants Cheese – it's one of my favorites! Anyway, on with the next chapter – enjoy!_

_L Cailan_

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**Fledgling Friendships~**

_Everyone hears only what they understand._

Some nights Nalia recalled the large navy sky with only a smattering of stars along it's surface, and other nights of her past there had been litters and litters of tiny sparkling sky jewels. This was one of those nights – a night free of clouds and nothing else to mutter the beauty of that which the Creators had made.

The small elf lay on the grasses near the large lake a mile or so out of Lothering. Here, few of the refugees trekked and a part from herself and her companions no one had bothered them. She reclined with her head on her hands watching the night sky closely for it reminded her of home and of those she missed.

_No matter how far I go and how long I am away, we are all sleeping under the same sky._

It brought her immeasurable comfort at least. The Creators were always with her, and her family in this way was as well.

She was startled a moment later by a rustling sound and turned to see Morrigan walking towards the banks of the black lake, her long flowing robes blending into the darkness. Nalia rose and hurried behind her though she didn't know why – as Morrigan didn't seem the best company to keep. Perhaps it was boredom, Nalia decided.

The witch was standing by the lakeside, looking out at something that Nalia could not see, and neither woman spoke for a while. The bank was clear and sandy, and beyond it Nalia could see the outline of the white fencing that lined Lothering though from here it seemed miles away. Fires burned beyond it, like tiny beacons in the darkness.

Morrigan leaned down, peering into the deep pool of water and then she dipped one foot into the wetness.

"'Tis cold," she uttered with a long suffering sigh. "I wonder if this will be part of my torments in traveling with you and that templar. Having to bathe in cold waters is quite unappealing."

She gracefully lifted a hand and Nalia watched in fascination as Morrigan seemed to command a physical rush of heat with just her hands. She then tried the water once more. "Ah, 'tis much better," she said with satisfaction.

Nalia felt the water, and this time it was pleasantly warm. Tough Nalia was familiar with magic for many elves practiced it, and many more were powerful mages but she had never known one closely – at least she had never known intimacy with someone whom she could speak to about such matters. Not that she was intimately close with the apostate witch who gracefully sank into the black depths of the now warm lake, but -

Morrigan watched her curiously.

"Are you coming, elf?" she questioned mildly, though she offered no other conversation. A gentle breeze stirred the night and Nalia took a deep breath before removing her leather armor and standing there just in small clothes.

"Modesty is a moot point," stated Morrigan as if reading Nalia's suddenly self conscious thoughts. "Mother has seen all of your bits, even the ones that are not particularily attractive."

Bristling the elf gazed down at herself. It was true that she had not considered in a long time what she looked like to others, but she had never believed herself to be unattractive per se. In fact, by elven standards she was rather pretty – or so the Keeper had told her. Of course, Talmen had believed her to be of the gods himself. And how this woman – a woman who didn't even know her deemed to say such things-

"Calm yourself, elf," stated Morrigan once again as if reading her thoughts. Her golden eyes had taken on a queer shade in the darkness. "It was not meant as an insult. No woman believe herself to be perfect, after all."

Sighing, Nalia hurried to finish undressing and then slipped into the black waters as well. She faced towards the shore and could see that the priestess Leliana had set up camp amidst a few trees and she sat against one, her head bent forward, as if sleeping. The she saw Alistair sitting at the other tree, a few feet away the fire reflecting off of the armor he was cleaning.

Neither seemed to be holding a conversation. Turning back to Morrigan, Nalia finally spoke.

"It's lovely out here."

"Truly? I am still horrified by the giant spiders whose home we clearly invaded whilst trying to find a place to camp," she said, her tone sarcastic.

Nalia sighed, and began swimming in a small languid circle her voice thoughtful when she replied.

"Are you always like this?"

"Like what?"

"This. Sarcastic…stand-offish…"

"And why should I be friendly, pray tell?" she inquired, moving about in the water slowly, woman watching elf.

"I don't know," replied Nalia. "I have done nothing to offend you."

"'Tis true," she replied and then fell silent.

Nalia continued the conversation whether Morrigan desired it or not. Neither would ever know. The witch stopped swimming and Nalia saw her tip her head back towards the night sky.

"The moon is bright this night," she commented then. Nalia looked up as well and nodded.

"Mythal is pleased," she said softly thinking back to one of Paivel's stories. Without looking down she continued to speak. "They say that Mythal placed the moon in the sky to be a pale comparison to the light of the sun. When it shines brighter it is so because she is pleased."

"'Tis one of your gods you speak of?"

Nalia looked down, not certain if Morrigan was mocking her of if she simply wanted to know. She nodded a bit uncertainly.

"Do you not have your own legends?"

Morrigan considered the question for a moment.

"I put no stock in religious tomfoolery," she replied. "But Mother has often told me that on the eve of Satinalia if one does not see their own shadow by the light of the moon, they are destined to die the following year."

Nalia worked quickly to tie up the thick hair that hung down her back and then gazed on Morrigan with a raise of her eyebrow.

"Sounds rather morbid, don't you think?"

"Indeed. I have never put stock in many of Mother's stories either. She is quite the storyteller and one never knows if what she says is true or if she has made it up."

Nalia swam then for a few silent moments, her eyes on the camp and then moving along the darkened landscape to where they had fought the spiders. That made her think of the highway men and then she turned to Morrigan once more.

"Our storyteller Paivel has told us many tales of mages who were able to change forms. What you did…well I have never seen it before. In our clan we did not practice much of such magic. Have you always been able to change form?"

The elf could see Morrigan's smile in the darkness.

"It is a very ancient magic," she explained pleasantly enough. "Taught to me by my Mother. I have heard of the elves possessing such power but have never had the opportunity to question those who possess it."

Nalia sighed her eyes up towards the heavens once more.

"My people…I do not think they wish to…discuss such things with humans," she explained softly.

Morrigan cocked her head.

"'Tis easy to understand, I suppose," was all she said before Nalia began to speak again.

"The Dalish have always believed that we are one with the animals," she found herself revealing. "We have lived in Ferelden's forests for so long now…"

Morrigan said nothing, but Nalia could feel her listening.

"I just always wondered why such magic is not more rampant amongst us. Perhaps it is just my experience for I imagine any mage could learn it, though I myself am not a mage."

"I could no sooner teach you such a talent as I could conjure Alistair a brain if you do not have magical ability," she estimated without emotion.

Nalia nodded.

"Your magic is powerful," she found herself saying to which Morrigan was quiet for a moment.

"Perhaps," she finally replied. "But you wield a weapon of steel in ways I could never hope to do," she reminded and then glanced towards the fire lit shore where they could see Alistair getting up.

Morrigan made a face.

"Rest well, elf," she said. "I must retire for the night for evil is beginning to stir," she said scathingly.

Nalia watched her move away towards he bed roll, which she had placed strategically away from the rest of the group.

**ooOOoo**

Leliana had spent her first evening away from the chantry alone, sitting under the tree of the camp they had set up, feeling oddly at peace with her decision to offer her aid to the Grey Wardens. It was much like the way she had felt the night she had fled from Orlais, though that night she had been much more frightened. She recalled that night, the fearful pounding of her own heart, the feeling that someone was on her heels and she would be found out for escaping her bard mistress – but most of all she remembered how much she _needed_ the freedom.

That had been too long ago – even though it had been only a couple of years.

In that moment, there was something peaceful about the fire, about having a purpose that she felt right about. Even simple things like bathing and eating brought her peace that night.

Though no one in the party she was a part of now had spoken much to her outside their first meeting, Leliana was not concerned – that time would come, she knew. Instead she studied her new companions. She deduced that the small elf, Nalia was one who possessed great compassion for those around her. Morrigan held instead great contempt and skepticism. Alistair, she found, was good hearted, bashful and most likely very loyal. He had spent most of the evening nearest to her, deep in thought, though Leliana was perceptive enough to see that his eyes continued to wander to the shoreline, toward Nalia.

She wondered at the look on his face.

"You watch her quite frequently, yes?" she questioned softly, the first words she had spoken directly to Alistair.

The warden jumped, his brown eyes widening.

"Yes, what? Wait, no!" he stuttered, tearing his eyes away from the black lake, where Nalia was bathing with Morrigan. "Not like that! I mean-"

He turned pink from embarrassment.

"I wasn't ogling, if that's what you meant, I was-"

Leliana giggled, moving on hands and knees nearer the fire, finding him endearing.

"I know what you meant," said she. "I simply meant to say you watch her…thoughtfully. And often," came her explanation.

Alistair, still pink, tried to explain.

"I said…things to her a few nights ago, that I am sorry about. I shouldn't have said them, and now she's not speaking to me, which is just as well because I clearly can't talk to women." He looked at her and then interrupted just as she was opening her mouth. "And don't you start too about being a woman and me talking to you because that's how my problems started!" he said, trying to justify himself.

Leliana watched his face turn red in his frustrations and smiled curiously.

"But I _am_ a woman," she said sweetly. "And you _ARE_ talking to me."

Alistair stood, looking down at the chantry sister with a mixture of frustration and anger.

"It's not the same thing!" he exclaimed running a hand through his hair. "I mean, it's not like…it isn't the same, because…because…we are fighting darkspawn, not courting each other!" he said anxiously.

Then he began to pace, wondering how the comparison had come about, because he had never considered…

"Courting?" giggled Leliana. "You want to court her?"

"NO!" yelped Alistair in a panic. "That's not, it's not…I just meant that I have trouble talking to females, and she…"

He faded away hating that Leliana looked so amused.

"No wonder Morrigan enjoys teasing you," she said pleasantly. "You react with such passion!"

Alistair began to grumble.

"All right, all right, let's pick on poor Alistair because he acts so funny when he's being teased," he muttered. "I can't help it!"

Leliana smiled up at him.

"I will stop now," she assured, and her mood sobered just a fraction, as she looked out to the water. "I have known many men in my life," she sighed then, her face darkening with the memories. "And I found the ones who were quickest to apologize were the ones I held in most esteem. It takes a real man to know he is wrong and then admit it."

She gazed at him kindly for a moment.

"Perhaps a simple I am sorry would suffice?"

She gave him a playful grin and Alistair blinked looking taken aback.

"I-I don't think she wants to even look at me," he replied, hesitating for a moment.

"Certainly she has ears?" replied Leliana. "Whether she looks at you or not is insignificant."

"Yes, but-"

"If you do not, this will bother you," she responded knowingly.

Alistair didn't reply for a long moment, and when he did, his tone was one of curiosity.

"You were a lay sister in the chantry? You never took vows?"

"Surely you were a brother while you were in the chantry?"

"No, I-I was recruited into the Wardens before my final vows," he explained with great relief.

Leliana watched him with interest.

"Why do you ask?"

Alistair hesitated a moment and stared towards the fire near her.

"You just…you don't seem like you'd be a sister," he continued. "No offense," he added hurriedly. She looked a little surprised.

_Great. I'm doing great with all these women._

The look of surprise faded and was replace with one that touched on sadness and regret.

"I loved the Chantry," she said. "It was good for me that they accepted all manner of people. You are right. My life was not always the way it is now."

The former templar waited for her to elaborate, but instead Leliana got up gracefully and then stretched, giving him a half smile. She revealed no more, much to his disappointment.

She looked out towards the waters that Morrigan had just vacated. The apostate stood in the shadows away from the rest of the group. Nalia was just dressing when Leliana spoke.

"You should tell Nalia you are sorry for whatever grievance you caused. She seems rather….hard headed but even someone like that would surely forgie you and not hold a grudge. These are difficult times."

She smiled at him.

"Goodnight Alistair."

"Goodnight, Leliana," he replied, watching her walk away.

But instead of heeding her sound advice, Alistair dropped back down to his haunches, leaning against the tree she had just vacated, to stare into the fire.


	15. The Caged Prisoner

_Wow – ok I'm on a roll! And as always I thank you guys for the new adds – it means a lot to me that people are still interested in this. And if you haven't checked it out – I'm on a new epic project…check out my Zevran/Cousland fic (and yes I'm plugging it here because it's my baby and I'm sort of proud of it)._

_And so now we have Sten…_

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**~Caged Prisoner~**

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_"I am a Sten of the Beresaad. Not a Warden."  
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Leliana arose long before the others the following morning. She loved this time of day – the sun had not yet risen and a fine dew covered everything making it sparkle in the light of the day not yet born.

_My last day in Lothering, _she reminded herself with some awe.

Still in spite of what seemed like insanity, the former sister felt a sense of calm, of _rightness_ about her decision.

_It is where I am meant to be. With this group who fights the Blight. It is where the Maker wants me._

She spared the group sleeping beside the dead fire each of them curled up in blankets and resting on bedrolls. None stirred and so the woman got up and hurried towards the fence leading into the village. She moved past some of the early risers, giving them smiles and morning greetings and just as she had for the last twenty one days, she took a small tin plate and filled with food – a hard biscuit and some honey and some watery grits. With this she hurried back to the caged prisoner.

She slowed down when she saw the familiar tank like figure standing stoically as he looked out towards the lake where she had spent the night. Leliana knew that the sloping hillside had hid all of them from view, but she wondered if the stranger had known that there were people nearby. She stopped but he did not turn – he stood as he had always stood.

"I brought you food this morning," she said softly, laying the tin plate in it's usual place by his cage so that he could reach it if he so desired.

As she expected he did not move although Leliana hoped that on this day – her last day in Lothering – something would be different. She stood waiting and hardly realized she had taken to holding her breath. As if one of her fervent prayers had been answered, the creature in the cage spoke for the first time since he had been brought to Lothering.

"For twenty-one days you have come here to bring me food."

The woman stepped closer to the cage so that she could look at him for a moment. He stood heads taller than her and his white hair was brilliant as if it had it's own light, though she thought perhaps it was so stark because of the contrast against his very dark skin. But it was his eyes that were most peculiar for when he turned them on her, his lips turned down in a scowl, she saw them to be red – a pale red so that they may have even been pink. She wondered if perhaps there was a sudden flash of regret in those eyes but it was gone before she could think on it.

"And for twenty-one days you have refused nourishment. Why is that? Would any man put such suffering on himself?"

Those eyes settled on her and he spoke once more. Leliana had never heard a voice that resonated the way this one did – it was dark and deep and spoke of many things. Of things to come and things of the past – she had not heard such a voice in her life.

"Why should I take food from those who need it? I know the darkspawn come. I am to die in this cage and it would be a waste to take food."

Leliana had bitten her lip as he spoke of the future. She reached to grip the bars of the cage.

"It is true what you speak," she said with urgency. "It is why I had hoped you would want to be freed from here. No man deserves to die in such a cruel way – no matter what you have done."

The man looked at her.

"Parshaara woman! I am to die here. It is Asit tal-eb – the way things are meant to be."

Leliana's face fell.

"But why, I don't understand-"

Her pleading was interrupted by the sudden sound of approaching voices; several of them from what Leliana could gauge, and then they were there, yelling and screaming for the man's blood. It had been this way nearly each morning, she recalled though the walls of the Chantry had shielded her from such buffets – now she was faced with them head on. They approached the cage, some yelling insults and curses at the caged prisoner and others spitting in his direction. Still others warned her to get away that he was 'evil'.

"You heard us Sister! He killed a whole family – even the children! Such a creature deserves nothing but the same for what he did!"

Leliana stood in between the raging refugees and the small cage that housed the silent prisoner.

"Haven't we all done things wrong? Should any of us be the judge when only our Maker can do that?"

Behind her, the prisoner lowered his head, accepting the taunts and jeers with silent magnificence. And she stood up calm and still in adversity, feeling a compulsion to defend a man she did not know.

* * *

The sun was just peeking over the black mountains in the distance when Nalia opened her eyes to the sound of a heated argument – she was aware only of the cold, hard ground under her bedroll and the sound of her companions stirring around her. She twisted in her bedroll, angling her body towards the sound of the growing voices. It was only then she could see Leliana. Her hair shone in the early morning sunlight giving her an appearance of some sort of higher being even though her voice bellied the image. It carried on the morning breeze, both firm and indignant.

"You would allow him to die here?" she was questioning.

Upon further inspection, Nalia could see that the Sister was talking with a group from town, led by a man holding a small rusted axe.

"Where is your mercy? He is a man after all! He lives and breathes as you do! Starve him to death or let him be devoured by the darkspawn? It seems a fate worse than he deserves, no matter what he has done!" she challenged, her voice pleading.

The others began to wake at the sound of the discussion and Morrigan lifted her head from the ground, her hair awry around her head.

"What in damnation is going on?" she muttered, wincing from the morning sun. She stared for a moment. "Oh…the Priestess of love, goodness and light," she quipped, lying down again.

Her voice was muffled by her blanket.

"Seems not even she can always contain her temperament. 'Tis good to know she is human after all even if it means that I might never get a sensible sleep."

Nalia sat up, having mind to go join Leliana to find out what had started the argument. She turned to see that the fighting had awoken Alistair for he had begun working on small bundles over the fire. She thought it was some kind of food though she didn't know exactly _what. _She had learned in her short time of traveling with him that he was a horrid cook.

He stood after stoking the fire a bit and ran a hand through his morning messy hair whilst glaring at Morrigan.

"You know, just because she wears chantry robes doesn't mean that it was always her life."

Morrigan gave him a scathing sideways glance.

"Truly," she drawled rolling her eyes.

"Everyone has a past, some more complicated than others," he said softly.

The witch shrugged.

"I am surprised you can remember yours, although I suppose there is little to remember. The feeble minded often have simple pasts," she replied pleasantly enough.

"I'm not stupid!" exclaimed the former templar in training. "Why must you always say so? They don't make stupid templars. I had history training…all kinds…all kinds of training!" he blustered.

"Well then, allow me to apologize," she answered, her tone one of ridicule. "Perhaps you have the smarts and just simply do not know how to _use _them," she suggested, rising to her feet in one liquid movement.

Alistair gave her a venomous glare and then began shoving things into their packs.

"I really hope you go choke on something," he grumbled.

The witch offered a tinkling laugh.

"I truly believe that if you keep cooking the way you do, it might actually happen."

Then she moved away from the group, heading towards the lake.

Nalia and Alistair stared after her and then the elf spoke, her tone guarded. She spared him a sideways glance.

"I hope at some point both of you tire of this constant need to bicker."

"As do I," sighed Alistair a pink flush to his cheeks.

After this, they finished packing in silence, for he had no clue what to say to continue the conversation, and Nalia seemed uninterested in speaking at all. When she got up to move towards the village, he stopped her.

"Nalia, I just wanted to…to…"

_Sorry! Just say you're sorry!_

Unfortunately for Alistair, the words wouldn't come right away and he began to stumble over his words, the pink in his cheeks blooming into a bright crimson. He could see Nalia grow uncomfortable and then before he could even offer a painfully executed apology, Leliana interrupted as she ran towards them, lifting her robes so she wouldn't trip over them.

"Nalia, you must help!" she exclaimed when she reached the duo. She pointed in the direction of the group of men yelling and jeering.

"There is a man, in a cage, just there," she managed with an effort to catch her breath. "They have imprisoned him! I understand he has done some things wrong, but does he not deserve a chance to repent? It is what Andraste would have wanted!" she exclaimed.

Nalia could now see amongst the men a large cage and within it there was a man indeed. A man who seemed to be taking the jeering and taunting in silence, his head lowered.

"What did he do?" asked Morrigan with interest as she joined the rest of the group.

"They say he murdered a whole family. The children as well," replied the priestess. The silence then seemed suddenly marred by shock.

"Impressive," stated Morrigan raising one perfectly arched brow.

The rest of the group gave her strange looks, to which the apostate scoffed.

"'Tis impressive indeed," she argued. "I would like to see any of you have the nerve to slay a child," she pointed out dryly.

No one replied.

Nalia hesitated as she glanced towards the cage once more.

"How could we help him?" she finally asked, drawing out the words due to her uncertainty.

"You're not serious?" asked a surprised Alistair. "You would aid an accused murderer? Do you know what kinds of animosity that will certainly create for us here with everything else that we are dealing with?"

"Nothing like what I already feel for you, dear fool," replied Morrigan dryly.

Nalia, doing her best to ignore the endless bickering between Alistair and Morrigan, hesitated at the crest of the hill as she watched the cage. The villagers had finally left him alone and he stood without moving for a long while. The sun had risen above the tree line now, bathing the world in beautiful light.

"Come," she urged Leliana then and wondered if it was curiosity that drew her forward towards the imprisoned man.

Up close she had to stop – he was a huge creature – bigger than any shem Nalia had ever seen in her whole life. Even Alistair whom she had considered a big man, seemed small in the face of this…creature.

_What are you? Man or…something else?_

He did not look up; did not offer acknowledgement of their presence and his voice resonated deeply as he spoke words in a tongue that Nalia could not understand – though the words seemed like a litany, even maybe some sort of prayer for they were uttered with reverence.

"I have brought a friend," said Leliana softly and it was this that caused the creature to look up.

He had eyes the most peculiar shade of pinkish red in a dark face – darker than any shem she had ever seen and his head was crowned by hair as white as snow.

"I refuse to play nice with any of your friends, woman. I am not here for your amusement – nor the amusement of any human. Leave me be in peace."

Nalia could feel Leliana's helplessness and this is what caused her to speak.

"I am not human."

The creature gazed on her, his eyes piercing through her – as if he was taking note of her soul and not just what he could _see._

"Nevertheless."

"You are in a cage. Who put you here?"

"Your chantry."

"They say you slaughtered a whole family. Even the children."

"It is as you say."

Nalia sighed inwardly, watching his stoic expression which never changed as he watched her – although something in those eyes made her try once more.

"I am Nalia Mahriel of the Dalish," she told him formally.

"I am Sten of the Beresaad, vanguard of the Qunari peoples."

She felt a sudden relief; at least now they were getting somewhere. With a slight hesitation she continued.

"What are Qunari?"

"What are elves?"

It was Morrigan who then broke the awkward silence.

"'Tis quite interesting – listening to this conversation is like trying to talk to Alistair. Pointless."

The man called Sten spared Morrigan a scathing glare before turning back to the small Dalish.

"You show more manners than your human counterparts, though it matters not."

"Why does it not matter?" she replied quickly hoping to engage the man in conversation.

"I am to die soon. Why not simply leave me to my fate?"

Nalia wondered how it was that someone could be so calm so soon before their execution. It was then that Leliana who had remained silent began to speak.

"This is not fair! To cage a person and allow them to starve to death or worse!"

The words were a passionate plea to anyone who would listen and they made Morrigan snicker.

"Leave it to Sister Peace and Light to remind us."

"The Qunari are famed warriors, are they not?" questioned Alistair, but Sten did not reply, only stared. "Perhaps if we let him free, he could be of use to us."

Morrigan gave Alistair a look.

"The first sensible thing you have ever said," she commented. "He murdered many people, and that included children. Naturally we want him in our group."

"And he would be free," Leliana finished breathlessly, this being her only desire.

Nalia turned to Sten.

"See? We all want you to join us," she announced with a smile the caged warrior did not return.

"I must pay for my crimes," was all he said.

"Do you not want atonement for these sins you committed? If I set you free, you would come with me, to fight against the Blight?"

"The Blight? You are a Grey Warden?"

"Yes I am."

"Surprising. A woman, and an elf," he replied slowly.

Nalia let her anger get the best of her, and she whirled around.

_This again? First Alistair and then this pig headed stranger? Why is it so impossible for me to be a woman and a warrior? How are women not equal to men?_

"Forget it then. I will leave your to your fate," she snapped though her tone was surprisingly calm for what she was feeling. "Leliana, he is not worth it," she spat and then stalked away, her dagger clanking against her armor.

She heard someone moving quickly to catch up to her and nearly groaned when she heard Alistair speaking. This was no better – listening to him speak, for after all he felt the same way as the caged Qunari.

"Nalia, don't be angry with him. Be angry with me. I shouldn't have said those things, I know better. He may not, he…you shouldn't be angry with him," he urged in a gentle tone, and Nalia took a few breaths slowing when she reached the edges of the village.

What choice did she have? She could leave the Qunari creature behind to be swallowed up by the coming Blight, but she knew he would be useful. She thought again about safety in numbers, power in the group.

"He clearly thinks little of me which is horrible of him considering we are strangers."

Her small face was turned down in a scowl as she turned to face the clearing once more watching as Leliana said something to the Qunari and he stared at her without speaking. Alistair had stopped along side the Dalish elf.

"Look – I know what I said a few moments ago, but can we really let that man – any man – be swallowed up by those darkspawn? It seems…a bit heartless for anyone."

Nalia spared him a look and then she let out a self suffering sigh.

"Fine. I will try one last time."

Then she moved back towards the caged prisoner.


	16. Bounty

_As always thanks for the feedback and still reading! Here's the next installment!_

_LCailan_

* * *

**Bounty**

* * *

Nalia hesitated at the door, nervously fidgeting with the dagger sheathed at her side. The Keeper had always reminded her that it was a bad if not slightly dangerous habit, for her blades were always sharp. But she couldn't help herself, because the building before her was both strange and threatening – and it was the first time she had ever stepped foot into the holy place of the shems.

"Come," urged Leliana pushing on the door and turning to give a curious look at Nalia's hesitation.

"Nalia, the Maker loves us all, no matter what you have heard and in spite of the trials that your kind have gone through."

The elf snorted softly.

"Doubtful."

The red haired sister offered a sigh, but then entered the building allowing Nalia to pass first. The tiny elf took a few hesitant steps within the massive room and stopped. The truth was she believed that already there was a huge strike against her when it came to the shemlen and their religion – the fact that she did not put any stock in the shelmen Maker. As she followed Leliana through the throng of people, she could not appreciate the large, brightly lit room or the chanting that went on around her from the priests and sisters within who were tending to the refugees that sound peace within these religious walls.

She wondered as she followed Leliana if the Revered Mother would even consider such a plea as the one they would offer, especially from someone like Nalia herself. Everything around her was strange - every action and word.

She felt further from home in that moment than she had since the Joining. What irritated her more than this showy religion was the fact that in that moment she _clung _to Leliana in a way that she had never thought she would cling to any shem, and she hated it. Abhorred it – it was weak and pathetic.

Unfortunately for Nalia, the red haired sister was the only familiarity she knew and the elf didn't want to show her fear and uncertainty. There was something undeniably commanding about Leliana. She spoke and smiled with gentleness but beneath that lay something unexplainable – something that Nalia inherently knew to be leadership. Though the woman possessed no magical powers, she had a way about her that seemed to enchant those around her, and fortunately as it turned out, the Revered Mother as well.

As the elder chantry priest gave Nalia uncertain and mistrustful glances, Leliana touted the plight of the caged Qunari creature with great passion, wringing her hands and speaking of mercy and justice and the coming Blight.

"We only want him to help us along our way," she insisted.

The Revered Mother sighed.

"Leliana, nearly three years ago I offered you safe harbor from the life you had fled to come here to Lothering. I would hate to see you go."

Leliana reached down to touch the older woman's hand and her eyes glowed with warmth.

"I must."

The insistence was gentle but firm.

"It is where the Maker is calling me. Surely you understand?"

Nalia watched the exchange between the two women with interest – she had not encountered many women since she had undergone the joining, and she missed the warmth and joy of friendship. After all, she hardly knew Leliana and Morrigan wasn't exactly what anyone would calm warm and inviting.

The Revered Mother took Leliana's hand for a moment.

"That man may be dangerous. How could I in clear conscience send you out into this already turbulent world knowing he is with you?"

Nalia saw the hesitation on Leliana's face and she interceded quickly.

"He means to atone for his sins by helping me," she stated firmly shifting from one foot to another for the look she was given spoke of disdain. "I promise you nothing will happen to Leliana."

The Revered Mother seemed to be hesitating, so Nalia continued.

"He has agreed to come with us. In that way he can atone. What good is he to anyone, you or me, if he remains in that cage?"

The Revered Mother stood and went to the window nearest her that overlooked the main street of the village leading towards the forests beyond.

Frantically, Nalia dug around her pack searching for a small bag given to her by Paivel right before she had left the Dalish camp. Within it jingled the coins they had found along their way to Lothering.

_Why do I care so much about that Qunari creature and Leliana's insistence that we take him with us?_

"Mother," stated Leliana in soft tones once more, "I have heard the whispers. If they are true, the village with succumb to the taint. Why not leave him to us? He would be of help, I know it. The Maker tells me so! This is not a time for proper punishment is it? Soon, all of this village will…"

Nalia could hear the women's hushed tones as she dug in the bag and then came up with a handful of sovereigns.

"Here," she offered triumphantly sticking her hand out to the Revered Mother. "Here is all the coin that I have, all the money that those highway men took from the poor villagers seeking refuge here. Take it and give to the people. With coin they might be able to flee here before the darkspawn come."

Saddened, the Revered Mother took the money, gazing at it thoughtfully.

"Yes, at least those who can still flee," she replied in a tone painted with hopelessness, for many refugees with the chantry suffered injuries which clearly spoke of their inability to further travel. It would be these who would perish. Finally, she took the money.

"Thank you, child."

Nalia felt awkward and hoped that once more, Leliana would command conversation. She did not want praise from a mistrustful shemlen – all she wanted was the caged Qunari creature.

Leliana watched her Mother seeing the sadness in her weathered face.

"You must flee too," she reminded her softly though she knew that it was not to be.

"Ah, but I cannot. My calling is here, just as yours is to go with the Grey Wardens," she replied with a trembling smile.

She reached out to cup Leliana's face in her hands.

"Go with the Maker child. Here, and take the key to the cage. Flee soon so those villagers do not see you."

Leliana's face was lit with a joy that was rare during such times. She hugged the older woman close and Nalia turned, suddenly overcome herself. She rushed from the room, passing through the throng of hurt and scared villagers moving towards the door. Her heart pounded in her ears and the chant behind her grated on her last nerve just as she burst out into the chantry courtyard and took in gulps of hot, humid air.

There, she fought the tears that threatened her. Luckily there was no one in sight within the walled in courtyard though she heard the sounds of humanity beyond those walls. For a moment she was alone and then the sound of the door opening behind her shattered the silence.

"Nalia, are you all right?"

Leliana voice was caring amidst Nalia's loneliness. How long had it been since she had seen her family and those she loved? Too long – and even more people would die, and be separated from their loved ones, many more would be hurt, terrified and only the creators knew if she would be able to-

The tears came then as she choked back a sob. A hand rested on her small shoulders.

"It will always be difficult," said Leliana and Nalia looked up to see tears in her blue green eyes. "Leaving those we love behind, knowing that many will die before we can stop this terror."

Nalia acknowledged the words with a nod but said nothing else, opting instead to make the quick and silent walk back towards the outskirts. She did not want to grow emotional or weak – there was no longer any room in her life for that. They reached the clearing where they had left Morrigan and Alistair, but not one was about.

"I don't see them."

Leliana's words were thoughtful.

* * *

Apostate and Templar glared at one another as they stood by the shore of the lake closest to the cage.

"Fool Chantry puppet," hissed Morrigan, her staff raised and her eyes flashing hatefully. Alistair had drawn his sword.

"Maleficar!"

Alistair's whisper was harsh as his eyes narrowed.

"You are an abomination in the eyes of the Maker!"

The witch laughed.

"At least I know what I am and I am good at it! You, dear fool, what will people think once your true paternity comes out and you're requirement to take the throne arises? I feel sorry for Ferelden. Many nations have fallen under the guidance of an idiot! "'Tis a shame indeed."

Alistair turned pink.

"How did you know that?"

Shock – he felt shock. Had Flemeth told Morrigan? How many other people had she told? The flush ran down his neck and he felt hot _everywhere._

_She's right. I'm going to make a horrible King. I can't believe that I let Flemeth even give me some semblance of hope! Maker!_

"How does anyone know anything?"

Her words were a gleeful snicker and Alistair stood up straight.

"You'd better not say anything-"

The warning was cut off just as Morrigan sensed something behind her as well. With a groan Alistair fell to the ground in a heap and just as the witch managed to shoot off a glyph of paralysis to buy herself a few seconds of time, someone grabbed her around the wrists and yanked her back. Then she felt a sharp blow to her head and all went black.

* * *

Leliana shaded her eyes from the bright sun as she gazed towards the lake where nothing seemed to be moving. There were trees and a massive hillside that obscured some of the shoreline but neither woman could see anyone.

"Perhaps they went to take a swim?" she suggested though neither believed that Alistair and Morrigan would do anything _together._

"Let's go. If we find one, we'll know what happened to the other."

Nalia's words were wry but they made Leliana smirk just a little as they set off. They had taken not more than two or three steps when there were footsteps and the clanking of metal against weapon behind them.

Nalia turned to see a group of men watching her menacingly. One wielded a rusty axe – he was the same one who had been after Sten's blood only that morning.

"Oy look! She's an _elf_ too! A Grey Warden and an _elf_!"

The words were mocking and the others laughed and the leader took a step forward.

"I didn't know they had riffraff Grey Wardens! Either way, there's a good bounty on your head, there is!"

Leliana could see the attack before Nalia sensed it, and the red haired woman moved forward, knocking Nalia to her knees before the man could swing his axe. Nalia let out a cry of pain as she hit the ground, partly from the impact and partly because the axe had done it's work – and she felt the blood dripping from the wound that it had caused to the side of her face.

The shock caused her fall forward and she tasted blood and dirt, but it was nothing compared to the burning sensation of the blade against her skin. Behind her she could hear Leliana yelling for her to move, and she scrambled forward, groaning from the pain and the sudden kick she felt to the side of her body. She nimbly rolled away from the next attack, swiping at the man's feet with her blade, managing to draw blood too.

The man yelped and then kicked a second time, and then a third. Still she fought, yanking at the dirt under her hands, to pull her aching body forward. She tried with vain to get up, to see what was going on, where Leliana had gone to, but she could see nothing through her blurred vision and the crowd of men now gathered around her. One of them yanked her up finally, laughing in her face.

"You're coming with us, elf."

Still the words were full of disgust and Nalia fought weakly to try and get away.

"A woman too! An elven woman who thinks she's a Grey Warden!"

They all laughed and Nalia felt her eyes burning as she wriggled violently, but to no avail. She would have to find another way to get free, for her strength was gone and she had dropped her weapon in the bloody dust behind her.

There were heavy footfalls from somewhere to her left, and they distracted her captor, giving Nalia enough time to bite him in the hand. He tasted disgusting; of metal and dirt and sweat and she nearly vomited. The man let out a shriek and Nalia fell to the ground once more in an ungraceful heap. Frantically she crawled back to get her dagger, heart nearly exploding out of her chest, as she heard a grunt and more running behind her.

No. She had to do this – she had to make sure she could fight. The men came after her and she kicked at them viciously, trying to get them in the face, in the head, anywhere so they couldn't capture her again.

A shadow loomed behind them and the small elf looked in wonder as the rusty axe swung in a graceful circle, taking out three of them men in one swoop and then scattering the rest. To her right, Leliana managed to take care of those men and Nalia fell back in a heap just as Sten reached her, catching her fall.

He helped her rise to her feet, his red eyes flashing for a moment with concern before they died out.

"You are in one piece?"

She was limping and her side hurt terribly, not to mention that she had not stopped bleeding.

"I am…fine. I need some bandages."

Her words were breathless, and she found herself swallowing dirt and blood.

Sten sighed.

"The others are by the lake. They were captured before you came with the sister," he explained. "I could not help, I was in my cage. Your companions did not know of the ambush."

Nalia nodded, trying to walk, and in the end, Sten leaned down and scooped her up as if she weighed nothing, and then carried her towards the shoreline. She didn't know what to do, but her head felt heavy and she was dizzy so leaning against Sten was inevitable. In the bleary distance she could see Leliana cutting the ropes from Alistair and Morrigan, and their bickering sounded like the creator's music to Nalia's ears.

She could hear Alistair calling her, and she couldn't reply.

"By the Maker, what happened?" he said breathlessly, and after a few painful jostles, Nalia opened her eyes to find that Alistair was gently laying her down on the shoreline, concern in his eyes.

"There was an ambush from some men in town who wanted the bounty on the Grey Warden's head," explained Sten, standing by in case something else was waiting for them. "We should leave now."

Morrigan leaned over the half conscious elf.

"Perhaps I can help," she said carefully. "I can make something…"

She began to work quickly, using what she could find and her own magical abilities to mix a salve that she applied to Nalia's cuts after Leliana and Alistair cleaned her as best as they could.

Nalia fought to open her eyes.

"Sten."

The Qunari looked at her with his sharp red eyes.

"Thank you."

"You are welcome."


	17. The Arlessa and the Maleficar

_I'm back! Too much drama in my life for the usual weekly posting – but I tried. We now veer away from Nalia'__s crew. I wrote a chapter of what I thought maybe went on between Jowan and Isolde before the events in the game. Enjoy!_

_LCailan_

* * *

**The Arlessa and the Maleficar**

_Sometimes a deal with the devil is better than no deal at all. – Lawrence Hill_

* * *

Isolde Guerrin turned from the large window overlooking the gardens of her estate to take in the man standing dutifully in the doorway of the large sitting room. He was not a tall man, but smart looking, wearing simply pressed robes of blue and gold. He had thick black hair which curled around the nape of his neck, and sharp but kind eyes, as dark as the deepest night. They may have been the color of coals, but she would not know for certain for she was too overwhelmed by the entire situation to remember such details.

This was the man that had been sent to her, the mage promised to tutor Connor. Isolde did not know where he had come from or of his past. Most disturbingly, she did not know whom had hired him but she knew what had been done was done, and there was no going back now. She had made her choice, as perilous at it seemed.

She took a nervous step forward, her mind awhirl with thoughts she could not possibly vocalize. After all, she was going against the beliefs of her husband and in spite of willingly hiding their son's budding magical abilities, she loved Eamon a great deal and felt decidedly guilty over her behavior. But even graver than defying her husband, she was going against the law, defying the chantry and in this, she was risking much more than just her relationship with her husband and son.

But in the end, Isolde had weighed her options and the decision she had come to on her own seemed the one with most gain, and least risk. At least, she hoped. This decision would at least ensure that her son remain with her, which was of profound importance to Isolde.

Now only a week after she had put in a request for a private tutor for Connor, there he stood.

"You are...Jowan?"

The question was posed in low tones as if someone would overhear, though the estate was a large one and her husband was in Denerim on official business and would not be home for days.

"The mage sent to tutor my son?"

The mage nodded, lowering his head. The endless black curls fell across his smooth forehead hiding his coal black eyes. "M'lady," he replied with a quiet reverence which strangely calmed Isolde.

She took another step forward.

"You were told...of the sensitivity of this assignment?"

Her tone was anxious now. She knew, more importantly than anything else, that this had to remain between herself and the tutor. A leak or breach would be disastrous.

The mage, Jowan, looked up and their eyes met. Isolde was taken a back for a moment at the intensity in his gaze and she paused before speaking.

"I will not make pretense. I hired you against the wishes of my husband, and I was told you are no longer a member of the Circle of Magi," she challenged her tone still soft but commanding all the same.

Her brown eyes reflected a note of tremulousness as Jowan took her in.

"I am not," he assured in the same even tone he had thus used. "The Circle has no knowledge of this...thing between us."

The silence was pregnant with tension.

"As it should not," replied Isolde, wringing her hands.

She thought her heart might burst out of her chest. But no. This was for Connor.

"If they were to hear about Connor's newfound talents, he would be taken from me. I cannot lose my Connor. He is only a boy!"

Jowan stared at the Arlessa for a few silent moments assessing the situation. He felt little for the arlessa and what she felt was a plight beyond words. Did she not know that she was not alone? That every mother who gave birth to a child within which lay magical ability went through what she was going through. He found it disgusting that Isolde felt that _she _was different. That_ her _situation warranted more sympathy. In any case, he felt nothing beyond a need to stay hidden from the Tower. The Redcliffe Estate was the perfect hideout. In fact, if everything fell into place as he hoped, it would be fortuitous indeed.

He had never been stupid, and each decision made in his life had been to benefit himself. Thus he had escaped from the Circle the first chance he had gotten, remaining on the run from the Chantry and being in touch only with Uldred, with whom he had found an unholy union. In their beliefs they had been unified at least, for Jowan was not as...passionate as Uldred. This thing between himself and Lady Isolde had in all purposes fallen into his lap, and he had Uldred to thank for this at least.

"I understand, my lady."

His voice was even, speaking to her things that she wanted to hear.

"It is unfortunate that our country's law would cause you such great distress. I give you my word however, that no one but you and I will know of your son's talents and I will be most discreet during my time with him. This I promise you in exchange for your silence. You understand that the Chantry and Circle hunt me as well."

His voice hedged, and he kept in very simple, for Jowan did not want the arlessa to know how he had broken away from the Tower, and most of all, his dabbling in blood magic. This did not seem like the sort of thing that anyone would want to hear and in the end it would not benefit him at all. Better no one knew that.

Isolde, calmed by the honeyed tone of his voice, nodded.

"You also have my vow Jowan that no one will know of you here."

She gingerly reached out her hand.

"Then we have an agreement?"

The mage gave another nod, putting his large hand into her small one and squeezing in affirmation. He felt warmer than Isolde imagined a man would. But perhaps that was her imagination because she felt a cold settling in her bones as they sealed the pact. And so it was done. Isolde motioned towards the large doors leading to the hallway, and then he bowed to her as she led the way down the hallway towards Connor's rooms. Their footsteps were silenced by the plush ness of carpeting in the hallway, and Isolde offered nothing by way of conversation until they stopped in front of a door in another hallway.

"He is in here," she explained watching Jowan. "He expects you."

Jowan nodded and then carefully entered the room wondering what this boy would be like. This place did not seem an ideal for raising a child. He found it too quiet and very much austere. Isolde was a woman of coldness, and her husband a serious man as well. It did not seem that they would take well to a child's laughter, or even to mistakes made by a young boy. He imagined it could not be a truly happy life.

The boy was small with sandy colored hair and eyes as bright as a shiny copper penny. He had a smattering of freckles along his rosy cheeks and offered the mage his brightest smile.

"Mother said you'd come!" he said by way of greeting, his boyish curiosity getting in the way of the wariness he should have felt at the presence of a stranger.

Jowan couldn't help himself, for the boy's smile was an infectious one and in spite of himself he also smiled, kneeling on the floor.

"My name is Jowan."

Connor's smile of innocence grew.

"My name is Connor. I'm happy to meet you."

"As am I," replied the maleficar.

In this boy he saw innocence and joy, the kind only possessed by a child untouched by the cruelty life was capable of bestowing on humanity. In this boy he saw eagerness and curiosity and genuine warmth Jowan had not known in a long time.

It saddened him.

_I must do what I must do._

He hid his duplicity behind a well placed smile.

"I hear that you know some magic," he began...

* * *

The night was swathed in shadows of the blackest kind. Uldred stood along the shoreline of Lake Calenhad staring off at the lights sparkling in the Tower, on each of it's majestic floors.

There had been a time, many years ago, when he had arrived here, awestruck and excited over what life had bestowed on him. Up until his arrival to Lake Calenhad, Uldred had not known family or what it was to belong somewhere. For the first time in his short life, he had looked forward to something. Now he only stared across the blackened lake with disdain.

Much had changed since he had been a boy of eleven. His arrival at the Tower had been mostly unannounced for he had been an orphan - he had simply blended right in with all the other apprentices. He had been bursting with desire for new friends, new adventures, and most of all an explanation as to what he was and what it was that he possessed.

Uldred felt the ringing of magic within him even now. It flowed like the blood inside of him, moving from limb to limb, from flesh to bone, through each of his senses, and it lit his emotions, moved him. It had always been this way - he could never remember otherwise. No matter what anyone thought, possessing magic was not a choice; you simply _were._ It was within you from the beginning, and the roadblock was simply the realization of what you were.

He took a breath a singing feeling in his fingertips. His eyes turned up to the Tower once more. The fog cleared out for a moment and he could see it's outline.

Uldred had been a bright boy, eager to learn and to understand himself and those around him. At first his love of learning was only shadowed by his love of magic, of this gift he possessed and cultured with great care. But years within the tower changed the boy. As he grew into a man, he developed disdain and agitation at those who tried to control the skills and talents he loved so much, and soon the disdain developed into rage at the fact that Ferelden and the rest of the world seemed just fine with that control. The young man began the fight against the Chantry and against those others around him -apprentices, mages, his equals and even the first enchanter. It was an unusual thing, as the libertarians were few and far between, and in the end Uldred became their greatest champion. He championed for freedom. He championed for separation from the Chantry and the right to practice magic outside of the Circle. And he became a voice for those who felt that their magic was an evil thing and not something to be embraced for even at the lowest points of his life, Uldred viewed his Maker given talents as something to be revered. Never once did he look down on himself for being what he was - a powerful magician.

A breeze lifted up in the darkness of the cooling night.

_The Maker gave me this power, and by all things holy, I will use it, and I will go against anything and anyone who tells me I am beneath them._

Behind him was a stirring in the air that Uldred sensed and as he turned he spotted the shorter, stealthy form of Jowan as the man emerged from the shadows, his black eyes glowing in the even blacker darkness.

"I am here," he said with a bow of obedience at his elder.

Uldred spared him a nod of agreement and the two men stood facing one another for a moment before Uldred began to speak.

"You went where I sent you? Is Lady Isolde pleased?"

"As pleased as she can be to have her son under the tutelage of a mage outside of the Circle," came the acrid reply.

Uldred took a breath and when he spoke his voice was low.

"Better she not discover where your true talents lie then. Maleficars are unfortunately still viewed as abominations."

He looked out along the lake as he spoke his last words.

"Not for long I hope."

"As do I," replied Jowan.

He viewed Senior Enchanter Uldred as a hero - only this man was brave and strong enough to face the opposition. He was willing to fight for those without a voice, to try and make the rest of the world see that mages were like all other men - they simply possessed powers that the normal man did not understand. He was even brave enough to take on those other mages who viewed their own powers as frightening and disgusting. On top of that, Uldred was willing to view all sides, and he...well, he did not embrace blood magic, but he did understand why one took on such a school of learning. When discovering Jowan's deep secret dabbling in such dark arts, he did not turn him into the Circle; instead, he had helped him escape. For that, Jowan would always be grateful.

"She will protect you?" asked the Senior Enchanter.

Jowan swallowed.

"For as long as I am in her service, yes."

"You remember our deal?"

"I will do as you have asked of me, Enchanter Uldred," stated Jowan with another low bow which Uldred did not see.

After another moment of thought he turned to face Jowan.

"I have the poison you will need," he explained. "You will find my contact in the dungeons of the Tower, but we must act quickly before anyone else discovers he is there. Only a few drops in Eamon's afternoon tea or his breakfast should do it. In a week or two, he will be incapacitated...I'm afraid it will be for an innumerable amount of time. I hope that it will be enough time for the Teryn to take a hold of his seat of power."

Jowan looked afraid at what he was being asked to do. To poison the Arl of Redlcliffe was certainly a crime punishable by death. But he also knew that his other crimes branded him death upon sight by the Templars within the Chantry. Dabbling in blood magic was the highest crime a mage was capable of committing, and Jowan was guilty. Either way, he faced a bleak future if caught. So he chose to put his faith in Uldred and in this man's belief that Loghain Mac Tir would free the mages from the Chantry and then...then he would be free to practice as he wished and what he wished. Then he would be free from paying for the crimes others thought he had committed. He had no choice.

"Do you think that Loghain will be loyal to you?"

"I do."

Uldred seemed confident. As the senior enchanter summoned the boat to take them across to the tower, Jowan could only hope that he was right.


	18. The Treaties

_Thanks as always for reading you guys – I guess I've kind of got my muse back on this story so the next few chapters go a bit easier for me, which is good. Thanks for the recent adds and the reviews too – always appreciated! _

_L Cailan_

* * *

**~The**** Treaties~**

"_There are men who embrace destiny; these are the ones who change the world forever."_

* * *

Somewhere in Ferelden, Nalia was sleeping – though her dreams had morphed into nightmares…

_From the darkness rose up a massive beast. It reared its head and let out a shrill cry, illuminating the black sky with massive fire. It cried again, and this time unfurled great wings of green-gray, destroying whatever stood in its way. The beast rendered fear in any who looked at it and it inspired legions of creatures, who answered its call. It moved forward, and its wings seemed to smash the mountains and level the trees. The others heeded its call, coming…coming slowly…_

"She's waking!"

Alistair's excited exclamation startled those around him. He began shifting from his place nearest to Nalia, who had been unconscious for some time. Morrigan lifted up the small poultice of salve.

"You are truly observant," she replied in mock awe, handing him the small container. "Put this on the cuts," she said. "At least she has stopped bleeding. I will get more bandages."

She rose in one fluid movement, leaving Alistair and Nalia alone, and he gently began to apply the salve just as he had seen Morrigan do more than once. Nalia opened her eyes at Alistair's gentle ministrations.

He heart was pummeling viciously within her chest as she tried to jump away.

"No- don't touch me!"

Alistair paused, salve in hand and his fingers inches above the cuts on her face. His eyes widened in slight surprise, his face a mask of concern and sympathy. Gently he shifted on the ground next to her so he could reach out to touch her shoulder.

"Nalia, you're fine. Everything is fine. We're in camp, and Morrigan was able to make something to help your cuts to heal. You lost much blood, but now that you're awake, Sten has food."

He hoped to soothe her for what he saw in her blue eyes could only be described as a tormented animal wildness.

"I saw-there was…"

She turned her head, but the beast was gone, and so were the hordes. There was nothing now but a huge fire and their tents around it. The fire crackled merrily and the stars danced in a sky that was dotted with clouds, so they would hide and reappear as if playing a happy cosmic game of hide and go seek.

The salve smelled medicinal – like mint, and already it seemed to make the sharp burning pain of the cuts fade away. The dream too, began to fade – and all that was left was the mild burning of the taint within her.

"I saw…"

She was trying to speak, Alistair knew, but whatever she had been dreaming terrified her to the point of silence and her eyes roamed his face, the sky, and everything around her in a manic way. He added another bout of salve to a huge cut that line the side of her face.

A lovely face, he decided, when she wasn't panicked or angry with him. When he spoke his voice was gentle and soothing.

"There now, you're fine. It was a dream. You'll have those dreams," he explained with a sigh.

Morrigan may not have known for she wasn't a warden, but he knew the dreams Nalia was having.

"The-the dragon?" she managed still in the strained voice.

She watched as he put down the poultice of salve and then as he wiped the remainder of the medicinal paste on his pants, finding herself distracted by the length of his fingers and the quick way with which he moved.

"Yes, the Archdemon we talked about at Ostagar," he replied. "It…_talks_ to the horde. And we can hear it just as the darkspawn can, it's not…pleasant, to say the least. I suppose Duncan would have told you…what you need to know had he been given a chance."

Nalia looked back up at him then, her heart rate returning to normal, her face soothed from his gentle touch. She could see the regret in his eyes when he spoke of Duncan.

"You block it out after awhile," he continued explaining. "You never quite stop hearing it though. It's one of the – I guess – side effects of being a Grey Warden."

He smiled a bit wryly.

"That, and…sometimes you can…feel them. When they are near, it's like…you know they are there."

Nalia's eyes had widened with Alistair's words – this she had understood. It was the morbid singing within her blood that never seemed to die away.

"I wish I had known. I thought that first dream the day of my Joining was bad enough but this…" she shuddered into silence.

Alistair got up after a few moments, and just then Nalia reached out to touch him, her eyes watching him with a solemn contemplation.

"It's not so bad, knowing someone else is going through the same thing. _Ma serannas_, Alistair. That is, I mean to say, thank you."

A smile lit up his face for a moment. She thought he was quite handsome, especially when he wasn't bickering with Morrigan.

"You're welcome. That's what I'm here for. Someone has to be the fool that bears the bad news and softens the blow with stupid one-liners."

She almost laughed at his self depreciating attitude, and it made him smile.

"Food?" he offered kindly. "Sten made something that tastes like the food of the Maker."

Her face clouded over with the mention of the Qunari.

"How is he? How is everyone? Leliana and Morrigan…and you? I don't remember…what happened."

Her words were pained and uncertain. Alistair crouched low to the ground once more.

"He is fine. We are all fine. We were attacked outside of Lothering and those men gave you a pretty good knock down. Although the Qunari mentioned that you put up an impressive fight. He says you fight like a man."

Nalia managed to sit up, propping herself up on trembling arms looking towards the rest of the campsite. In the distance she could see Leliana's outline as she stoked the massive fire, and near to her was Sten, ladling up two metal bowlfuls of dinner from a large pot that stood over the brightly burning fire. Her words were thoughtful and she shrugged.

"When they trained us in the clan, the hunters always told us that to fight a man you must think like one. But women often have the advantage because they are smaller and quicker."

There was an impish look in her face as she finished the statement before those eyes turned towards the fire. Sten made a shadowy figure against the firelight and grew larger and larger as he approached Nalia and Alistair. When he reached them, he spoke.

"Warden, you should eat now that you are awake. There is plenty. The others have eaten, so you may eat as much as you need."

Stoically the huge Qunari handed her the metal bowl and a wooden spoon as Alistair finished with the salve his face still a mask of concern and his brown eyes flickering every few moments towards the small trembling elf. He was uncertain of her condition and if she was ready to face what was next.

Now that Nalia had come to, he knew there was much to be done. The Warden treaties were in his possession and it would be time to discuss which direction to take first. Gathering allies would not be easy – but it was necessary. He thought once more (as he had the two days previous) at how he would face going to Redcliffe again. It had been years and years since he had been sent to the chantry, and some wounds were gouged so deep they never healed. Even the name of Eamon made his heart twist inside. And Isolde! Could he even face her? He wondered if she would mock him in spite of his title, in spite of where he had gotten to in life since the last time he had seen the Arl and Arlessa.

Funny what a person remembered even after a long span of time. He could still picture Isolde's expression, the way she had always seemed to want to blame him for things, even as a small child. Alistair had never been good enough for Isolde Guerrin - it was as if she had resented his very existence, so much so that he could feel it at a young age. No, sometimes, some things were never forgotten.

Whispered conversations about taking in unnecessary child houseguests when she thought he wasn't listening. He recalled now the harsh and numerous scoldings over messes and other such calamities that often befell a young child. Even the small things, such as the perpetual sour lemon face that Isolde wore when looking at him, were coming back to him now.

Alistair had seated himself near Nalia once more, though he paid her no mind for his mind was in the past. He knew he would have to face Eamon and Isolde, but…not yet. Not just yet.

"...me? Alistair?"

He blinked, Nalia's voice breaking through his troubled thoughts. Sten had now sat down next to him and was watching him with a rather irritated expression while Nalia had propped herself up against a small rock formation next to her bedroll, and was sipping from the tin bowl carefully, her eyes bright over the rim.

"What?" he asked, realizing how stupid he must have sounded.

"I asked you how long I've been out," she repeated her question, wondering what he had been thinking about.

"One day now."

The Qunari beat Alistair to the answer, his tone confirming the irritation on his face. The small elf hesitated over her bowl of stew.

"Thank you for saving my life, Sten."

"It was nothing. You rescued me from my cage."

His response was short and without emotion, and in the silence that followed the large Qunari stood and without another word, made his way back towards the fire. Nalia's eyes followed him as she took another sip of the hot stew.

To her other side Alistair opened his mouth to speak and hesitated, thinking back once more to the last time they had been alone, and the things he had said. He bit his lip, and once again began to try and apologize.

"I know, well, that you might not even care," he began slowly, "But that night, I called you, I mean, that I accused you of not being female, I mean...I-"

He was flushed bright red now and his words were colored with slight shame.

"I...I want to say I am sorry for that. And for, you know, acting like your being an elf matters that much, because it doesn't. I never should have thought that way."

Nalia considered his words and then she nodded.

"Don't worry about it, Alistair. You think the way you do because it's what you know. Just like me. The first thing I thought of when I met Duncan was that he was a dirty shem. I can't say I thought more highly of you."

He watched her.

"We're from different worlds," she continued. "Two people thrust into roles we probably aren't ready for. Who otherwise would never have met, right?"

She offered a small smile and then continued to eat.

Morrigan's voice startled the two sitting near the rocks by Nalia's bedroll and they watched as the witch sank down gracefully, holding a small rusted box which made Alistair wince for a split second. She moved the way she cast magic, in a very fluid manner. In the other hand she held fresh bandages.

"Speaking of roles no one is prepared for, it is time."

She placed the metal box on the dusty ground in between them and handed Nalia the extra bandages.

"You came all the way into the Korcari for these, did you not? If it was not to plead for help from the other peoples of Ferelden, then all your work thus far 'twas pointless."

Setting the bandages aside, Nalia struggled forward and reached for the rusted box to look within. There lay four large piece of parchment, some more yellowed than others, all covered with a blank ink. All were about the same thing, even though she could not recognize the writing of the dwarves and felt a bitter pull of nostalgia when she recognized her own people's language. Blinking furiously she looked up and nodded her agreement.

"It is time."

After all, this was their purpose; this would be their direction, to gather allies to aid them against the Blight and unite Ferelden under this one important goal. Sten had walked up with Leliana and now they crowded together to look down at the papers. Even though she felt mostly alone, Nalia was grateful for her companions, as misfit as they seemed to be.

"The Circle of Magi," began Alistair softly, holding up a parchment with the insignia of the circle and the signature of the First Enchanter decorating the bottom.

Morrigan's face blanched, her gold eyes flashing with unbridled fury which matched the vehemence of her words.

"I would rather die than set foot in that tower! All they want to do is to control those with magical powers! As if we are some abomination to be hidden away! Those without magical powers believe that we can just turn it off and on at will when in reality it is as natural for us as breathing!"

Nalia could see Morrigan's hatred and Alistair's sadness all at once, but she simply didn't understand enough to truly know what was silently transpiring between her two companions.

"Some magic is evil," stated Alistair, looking down at his hands. "Those who have talents must be responsible for them, and having magical ability can be dangerous. It isn't like...they are controlling mages for no reason! It is for their safety, and the safety of those around them!"

Morrigan snorted and let out a mirthless laugh.

"By neutralizing them? Taking away their ability to feel? And destroying those who cannot pass your silly tests? Such humane treatment. Rubbish! If you ever say those words near me again, Alistair, you will truly understand what pain means," she threatened, her eyes glittering, gold slits.

There were two pink spots on Alistair's cheeks as his throat moved by nothing came out of his mouth.

Sten's words cut into the hatred between Alistair and Morrigan, and his eyes flashed in the darkness.

"This is not the time for fighting! Let us move on."

Leliana was already reaching into the box once more and Nalia silently hoped the woman's presence would help calm the uprising between her companions.

"The dwarves," Leliana said to the group. "Orzammar lies just under the Frostback Mountains, does it not? The Deep Roads are dangerous, however."

Nalia gently reached for the next treaty, the one decorated with the writing of her people. It was Sten who spoke.

"What of your people, elf?"

She could hardly speak over the lump in her throat.

"We promised the Grey Wardens that we would help fight the Blight," she agreed, her voice strained. "But my clan is long gone now."

"Surely there are more clans," said Morrigan. "I know the Brecillian Forest teems with them."

Nalia nodded, wondering what it would be like to face her people again, after everything that had happened in such a short time.

"Teeming with more than just my kind," she explained softly. "It teems with werewolves and bears, spiders, and all manner of creatures. I would have to prepare you. We would need better weapons, a way to keep up our health..."

Morrigan looked up the, holding the last treaty and her snide tone focused on Alistair who had not lifted his head the entire time the conversation had been happening.

"Alistair? Redcliffe is not far, should we go there first? Or was the earlier argument you had with me simply a tactic in avoidance?"

The question was innocent enough, though the pleasant voice was slowly being eaten away by caustic. Before Alistair could reply, Nalia turned to Morrigan.

"Avoidance of what?" she asked.

Morrigan got up.

"Perhaps you should ask the disgruntled templar," she sneered. "As for myself, I will be in my tent should anyone require my presence. I will not be joining you at Lake Calenhad for I refuse to set foot in the Circle Tower. Good luck if that is where you wish to venture first. I doubt you will get far."

The group watched her walk towards her tent, which she still chose to keep far away from the rest. Nalia turned to glance then at Alistair, whose head was down. After a long silence, Leliana got up too, and a muffled grunt came from Alistair.

"The mages are powerful. Especially the Master Enchanter, and some of those senior mages who have been in the Tower a long time. No matter what she says, you do not know or understand what magic can do if it isn't controlled."

He did not look up as he was speaking, and the tension was so thick one could cut it with a knife.

"There is a reason the Chantry put the Tower in place, it is to protect the people, and in some cases, the apprentices from themselves. Even those who have mastered their powers can sometimes be led astray."

Finally, Alistair had looked up. Nalia couldn't be sure but in the shadows, she could see fear in his eyes. He hesitated for a moment as if was going to say something, but in the end turned and stalked off towards his own tent. The elf looked from the witch curled up by the fire, to the man who had petulantly thrown himself upon the bedroll that lay in front of the entrance to his tent.

"This isn't the time for us to be divided!"

The words, heavy with anger and frustration, rang out within the campsite, but before Nalia could move in either direction, a heavy hand settled on her upper arm.

"Let it be for now Warden."

Sten's voice made her turn towards him.

"Don't we face enough trouble without adding division?"

She muttered her question, folding her arms across her chest. The Qunari's expression did not change, but he offered a heavy sigh.

"We have a goal, elf. We must not forget what that is, and it is to fight the Blight. Let those bickering deal with it themselves."

As always, he said very little and this time Nalia found no comfort in his words and she felt alone and confused. Leliana spoke from behind them.

"Tomorrow we should break camp and head west, yes? The Circle Tower is near Redcliffe, is it not? The Frostbacks lay beyond Redcliffe. No matter what we choose, we may as well move in that direction."

Nalia turned and nodded – at first weakly and then with strengthened resolve.

"Yes. Staying here and trying to decide when those two are so at odds is accomplishing nothing. Tomorrow we head towards Lake Calenhad."

She lifted her head towards the dizzying heights of the sparkling heavens and wondered what lay before her and how – most importantly if- she would be able to handle it.


End file.
